


Shadows of Our Hearts

by arrow_through_my_writers_block



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Heaven, Alternate Universe - Hell, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Heaven, Hell, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Novel, Inspired by a Movie, Mystery Character(s), OFBB, Olicity Big Bang, Pain, Reincarnation, Romance, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:39:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5641132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrow_through_my_writers_block/pseuds/arrow_through_my_writers_block
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Felicity dies, she doesn't initially accept it. She fights away from heaven and peace to comfort a grieving Oliver. With the help of a guiding hand, she creates a heaven for her and Oliver, she moves on with hopes of eternity with her love. But when tragedy strikes and threatens to destroy that everlasting future, she must fight her way through hell and back to save Oliver before he's lost forever. (Based off the film/novel What Dreams May Come)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First I have to give a huge shout out to all the lovely folks who put together the OFBB! It has been such an amazing experience and I've grown so close to so many amazing writers and artist thanks to this event! You guys deserve all the chocolate, wine or other snacks you prefer! 
> 
> Second, I have to give a HUGE shout out and a thousand hugs to my lovely artist @hackergoddessfelicity. She made [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1f9S4YcfSB8&feature=youtu.be) amazing trailer to go with this story that totally destroyed me when I first watched it! I hope you'll all go give her some love/follows because she is so lovely! <3 Also a huge shout out to my cheerleader @yellowflicker01091996 for the support she gave in the early stages of writing this story. <3 And also my beta @honorthedeadbyfighting for the amazing feedback she gave me! THANK YOU!!!!
> 
> And last, I'd like to recommend the novel/film that I loosely based this fic on: What Dreams May Come. It is a brilliant story and definitely worth your time. It is one of my all-time favorite novels/films. Give it a try.

It ended with a flash.

Not the crackling of lightning or the illumination of a camera, but the clear, yet momentary brightness of a gunshot. That’s all Felicity remembered. The sudden brightness followed by blackness. Somewhere deep in her memories, she recalled the sound of the gun firing, but that was minuscule compared to the flash.

She found herself in the lair, standing outside of the team circled around a table topped with her pale body, their circle a silent vigil that sprouted goosebumps across her skin. Her eyes flickered from her body before her to Oliver. She studied his face and watched as tears fell down his cheeks onto his tightly set jaw, then trailed her gaze down to his hands clenched tight into fists. She sensed his rage - the desire to punch something tangible in the already charged air.

“Oliver,” Laurel murmured, her voice strangely muffled. “We have to bury her.”

Oliver shook his head.

“We could take her to Nanda Parbat,” Thea suggested, words etched with sarcasm.

“No!” Oliver shouted, fists clenching tighter. Felicity moved to his side and reached out to touch him.

“I wouldn’t touch him if I were you,” a male voice whispered near her ear.

Turning abruptly, Felicity found a blurred figure. The figure was about Oliver’s height, confident with the hint of a tailored suit beneath the haze. “Who the hell are you?” Felicity asked, backing away slightly. The figure was too close for comfort - too far into her personal bubble to feel at ease. “Why are you all fuzzy?”

“Someone you once knew,” he answered, voice lacking the strange muffled effect the team had. “And I’ll become more distinct once you accept the truth.”

Felicity laughed. “This is a really weird dream, right?” She pinched her arm, expecting it to be painful to trigger wakefulness but she felt no pain, just a pressure. “I mean, why else would the team ignore me? Why else would I be able to see myself dead on the table?”

“You’re dead, Felicity.”

She watched the figure for a moment, unable to laugh but unable to speak, letting his words sink in. There had been a flash. A gunshot. Beneath those two things, there had been a tearing pain similar to the bullet she had taken to save Sara so many years before, and similar to the one that had nearly taken her life - the one that nearly crippled her. But it had been an act of heroism. The thought ran through her mind that perhaps the new flash had been just that: a heroic step in front of a gun to save a member of the team. She wondered if she would wake up with a new scar as testament for a new act of bravery.

“No, Felicity,” the figure said, reaching out to pat her shoulder comfortingly. “You’re dead. You’re not gonna wake up.”

The figure’s voice was full of a sincerity so intense it took Felicity by surprise. She looked back at the team, their grief stricken faces a painful punch in the gut. She watched Oliver. His clenched fists and tightened jaw never relaxing. If she was truly dead, he would never come back from it. He would never be the same. She followed his gaze down to the body on the table and she sighed. It was her, and it was not alive. No rise and fall of breaths. No rosy cheeks. No smile at Oliver’s voice. The body was dead.

“Okay,” she began, tearing her gaze from the sadness to the figure beside her. “Say I believe you… I can’t just leave them. They are my family. They are my life. He’s my life.” She pointed to Oliver, her hand trembling with her confusion and desire to wrap her arms around him. “I need to make sure that they are okay.”

The figure chuckled. “You’ll find that staying here will only make their grief worse. But until you can move on, I’ll remain in the shadows.” And then he was gone, leaving no traces of his presence.

She stood completely still, willing away the itching desire to comfort Oliver; the need to grip his arm and remind him that everything was fine. Her hand was raised, poised to soothe, but she curled her fingers into a fist. The action sent the room swirling and morphing until she was in a new environment.

She watched as John sat doubled over on the couch. Lyla sat beside him, caressing his back. She whispered reassurances to him, anything to remind him that things would be fine, that he still had his daughter and the rest of the team. He still had her.

“I know, Lyla,” he mumbled, voice rough with falling tears. “But she was my sister. A little sister.”

Lyla nodded, leaving a lingering kiss on his cheek before getting up to check on their daughter. Sara was on the floor watching them, holding up a fuzzy stuffed panda. “I gave that to her,” Felicity mumbled, her heart aching at the sight.

Lyla picked Sara up and brought her to John’s side. With a slight chuckle, he took her into his arms and hugged her, gently, but with an intensity she had difficulty watching. He kissed the top of the girl’s head and whispered to her, reassurances for himself that she didn’t understand. He kept his eyes away from the panda in her arms.

Felicity closed her eyes and felt the world shift once more. When she opened them, she was back in the lair, Laurel and Thea sitting at the glass table they used to plan missions and feasted on Big Belly Burger like it wasn’t death in the form of food.

“Is it just me, or is it way too quiet in here?” Thea asked, tapping her fingers against the table, forgotten Big Belly Burger taunting Felicity.

_ If you’re thinking of mourning my passing, at least eat your food. _

Laurel nodded, tilting her head to listen. “The typing is gone.”

“The babbles are gone.”

“I never thought I’d be sad to be without those tangents,” Laurel said, holding a french fry an inch above her vanilla shake. Everyone knew it was her obsession; salty and sweet perfectly combined. But now she simply eyed it disapprovingly.

Felicity walked over and leaned in, her lips near Laurel’s ear. “Eat the damn fry or I will steal it from your fingers without hesitation.”

As if Laurel heard the threat, she shook herself out of her reverie and dipped the fry into the shake and then stuffed it into her mouth, a faint smile returning to her lips. She repeated the process, which guided Thea to return to her meal.

The possible influence made Felicity straighten and stare at the two women for a few minutes. It was clear that Laurel had just been waiting to take the bite; she had been contemplating their losses while dangling the fry above the shake. That was the answer. Felicity was sure of it.

She lingered in the lair a while, tracing fingers along the gear and computers, fighting the urge to start typing. Her job was to search and code and keep tabs on security. She felt lost, floating in a world she no longer belonged to. But she had to stay just a bit longer. She stood in front of Oliver’s suit, taking in the emerald armor; the small scratches against the fabric and the scuff marks along the knees and toes of the boots. He wore the suit well, as she always knew he would. She wondered if her death would send him back into his old ways… his volatile and dangerous ways. Revenge was a familiar sensation for him, she knew. Her eyes welled with tears at the prospect of the Green Arrow suit donned for murder instead of rescue.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to slow the flood of tears. She felt the world shift, ripping at her and tossing her this way and that. It took longer to settle in a new location, but she heard things along the way. Cries of despair. Sobs. Whimpers. Each sound tugged at her heart and threatened to shatter it into a million pieces. She knew the voice, even with it mangled by grief.

Finally her feet settled on solid ground and she opened her eyes. She was in the loft. The loft she had shared with him. The loft they had scattered with photographs of their trip around the world. The loft she had nearly burned down in her failure to bake muffins. The loft Oliver had insisted on making love throughout, on every surface both stable and not. Against pillars. Spread across countertops. Against windows and the cool tile floor they had installed, as well as the rug they had both insisted on throwing beyond the length of the fireplace. She replayed each moment, sexual or domestic, savoring each one.

But beyond her daydreams, she heard Oliver’s muffled cries. He wasn’t on the lower level. He wasn’t at the stairs. She glanced around, really taking in her environment and noticed slight imperfections.

A crystal vase tossed against a pillar. A gaping hole in the pantry door. Their dishes from the previous morning shattered in the sink. He had created each imperfection with his grief.

She hesitated before moving to the second floor to find him. Her progress up the stairs was slow and deliberate, etched in fear. If he had been destructive on the first floor, she wondered how he had been or would be on the second floor, the floor where they slept and shared some of their most intimate conversations.

The cries grew louder with each step, pulling her in and causing her hands to tingle with the need to soothe and comfort. In moments of despair, he had always recovered from the pain by her fingers rolling out knots in his neck and running through his hair, massaging his skull. She removed the tension which in turn silenced the sobs. But this would be different. Very different. The figure had told her not to touch anyone, and the truth in the voice told her to listen.

She made it to the second floor landing and turned to the bedroom door. It was open, almost invitingly so. She stifled her tears and inched forward tiptoes. Even though she knew she was making no noise, she moved as quietly as she could, terrified of startling Oliver.

Once inside, her heart ached once more, finally tearing into two at the sight of him. He was seated on the bed, clutching at her panda stuffed animal for dear life. It was the one she had kept since childhood, the one he always made fun of, the one that meant the world to her. He clutched it like it was his only anchor to the world, his shoulders shaking with his cries. His eyes were tightly shut, as if he were trying to will the world away. Maybe if he kept them closed long enough, she would return to him. The thought ripped at another section of her heart.

She stepped in front of him and plopped down onto the floor at his feet. Once settled, she simply stared at his hands, tightly wound around the panda, squeezing. His knuckles were white from the intensity of his grip. She worried he might puncture the poor thing, spilling its fluffy insides out onto the floor.  _ Please don’t kill Penelope the Panda. You need her, Oliver. _

As if in obedience, his hands loosened slightly. Her mouth dropped. She hadn’t spoken aloud like she had with Laurel, but somehow Oliver had done as she requested. Her mouth dropped. “How can I have influence over people if I’m dead?” she whispered, tearing her gaze from Penelope to rest at the forgotten wine glass on the nightstand. So many ideas were running through her mind. So many possibilities to communicate with him, to ease his heartache.  _ How to proceed…  _ She shuffled over to the nightstand and ran her finger along the rim of the wine glass. It had been her erotic signal to him. 

When they were at fancy dinners or just sitting in front of the television, she used that gesture to let him know what was on her mind. She knew he had loved it. It always darkened his eyes and transformed his lips into a seductive smirk; the smirk that sent her heart to pitter-pattering and her mind reeling with the insinuations. She ceased her circuit and pushed the glass to the edge until it tumbled off and down to the floor, shattering with a resounding crash. 

Oliver went into full alert at the sound. He dropped Penelope and clenched his hands into tight, readied fists. He eyed the sparkling shards warily at first, then with curiosity. For the first time, Felicity could see his blue eyes, and their current state tore at another section of her heart. They were bloodshot, watery and swollen from his grief. She had never seen them like that, and she considered herself an expert on the many states of Oliver Queen’s gorgeous eyes. But they weren’t gorgeous. They weren’t eyes she wanted to fall into. They were eyes she longed to heal.

He stared at the glass, his thumb and forefinger rubbing together in nervousness. His jaw was tense, grinding together dangerously, the faint sound angering Felicity. “Don’t just stand there!” she shouted. “Do something!”

As if in response to her words, Oliver stepped closer to the scattered glass. Carefully he knelt down, looking over the expanse with fear and question. Felicity knelt beside him, inches away from touching him. Her nerves were in overdrive; all she wanted was to touch him, to hold him and let him know everything would be fine. She could feel the heat radiating off of his skin and recalled all the times she had clung to him, soaking in the warmth and loving every second.

Oliver reached forward and ran a hand over a large piece of the rim, trailing his finger along the same section she had caressed only moments before. With slight hesitation, she placed her small hand atop his larger one, feeling his tenseness grow tighter at the touch. His hand began to shake beneath hers. Then he is sobbing, his whole body wracked by the tears and pain spilling over. She squeezed his hand and regretted the action almost instantly. Oliver screamed. A scream full of pain and guilt and sorrow that she wished she could soothe.

Instead she let go, pulling her hand away from his. His body relaxed slightly and his screams subsided, replaced by soft whimpers.

She had never seen him in such pain. She wished she wasn’t the cause.

Oliver stood and began to pace, his shoes crunching the glass and threatened to create a groove in the flooring with each repeat of the trek. She watched him for what seemed like hours, making no moves to stop him.  _ What’s the point?  _ she thought sadly.  _ I’ll only make it worse. _

Finally he collapsed onto the bed, opting to curl up on her side of the mattress, tucking Penelope beneath his chin and clutched tightly to his chest. The change tugged at her heart as she watched him take a deep breath through his nose, clearly taking in her scent that still lingered on her pillows. “Oh, Oliver…”

She padded across the floor and hopped onto the bed on the other side, leaving considerable room between them. No touching. No soothing. No contact at all.

Felicity wasn’t sure how long she lay there before she heard his deep, languid breathing. She had a sudden desire to clean up the loft; to sweep up the shattered wine glass and repair the damage Oliver had left downstairs.

“That’s a bad idea, Felicity,” a voice said.

She sat up and turned toward the voice, finding the blurred figure from earlier. “Why?”

The figure chuckled. “He has to accept things on his own. You cannot force him. You cannot convince him you’re still here, no matter how much glass you break.”

“Why can’t I make things easier for him?”

The figure sighed and sat beside her. “That’s the hardest part about this death and afterlife business. We want to help our loved ones. We want to make things easier. But they are grieving - Oliver is grieving - and there’s no way to make that any easier.” The figure brought a comforting hand onto her shoulder and patted it gently. “Grief is a process, and Oliver is nowhere near through it.”

Tears sprouted from Felicity’s eyes. “I’m afraid to leave him.”

“Trust me. It’ll be easier on him if you move on.”

For a while, Felicity contemplated the words. It was clear her presence was causing him more pain, but her instinct was to fix things. Her instinct was to make sure everything was okay. Her instinct was to love. “Can I leave him a note?” she asked halfheartedly, already sure of the answer.

The figure laughed a small, sad laugh. “That would be a really bad idea.”

Felicity frowned and clenched her fists. Being dead was becoming a burden she never expected. “Can I do  _ anything _ to help him?”

The figure nodded, then stepped forward. He watched Oliver. Beyond the blur, Felicity glimpsed a strange amount of familiarity in the way he stood and tilted his head to the side. “Who are you?”

With a light chuckle, the figure said: “A friend.”

For a moment the distortion around the figure intensified, whirling and pulsing to mask his features. Then it all fell away and she saw for the first time the source of the voice. Recognition didn’t dawn right away. She had only interacted with him once in life, before his tragic death. A quick job of repairing his state-of-the-art laptop after he had overloaded it. He had chatted with her when he stopped by her cubicle to drop the tech off, and once again when he had picked it up. She had barely looked up from her work to greet or dismiss him. But there was no way to forget those eyes, usually so cheerful and joking, now fixated on Oliver’s sleeping form with sadness.

_ Tommy Merlyn. _

She remained silent, unwilling to interrupt whatever Tommy was allowing himself to feel. It didn’t take long for him to retreat from the bedside, going to the doorway. “Let’s talk elsewhere.”

Felicity followed him down the stairs, forcing away the instinct to turn back and remain by Oliver’s side. The sight on the first floor was the same, shockingly violent and full of heartache. “So I can’t clean any of this up?” she asked, gesturing to the shards of crystal. He simply shook his head, a smirk growing on his lips. “What’s the point of being a ghost if I can’t do something useful?”

He laughed now, a lively sound against the dead of the room. “Felicity, you’re not really a ghost, and you shouldn’t have the ability to interact with anything. And you definitely shouldn’t be able to touch Oliver.”

She blinked at him, shocked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “Trust me, if I could have comforted Laurel, I would have.” He pointed at the ceiling, to the bedroom directly above them. “If I could have let Oliver know things were okay, that I was fine, I would have. I’ve never seen anyone do what you’ve done.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure. But clearly your bond to Oliver is something not even death can sever.”

She contemplated that for a while, pacing the length of the loft.

She recalled those weeks Oliver had been presumed dead, killed at the hand of Ra’s al Ghul. She had known, deep in her bones, that he wasn’t dead. That he had clung to life and that he had done so for her and for the team. She recalled how she had tossed and turned at night, hearing a breathing beside her that didn’t exist but sounded so much like Oliver’s breathing when he was injured. She recalled the moment when she had been typing a string of security codes and a sudden pain shot through her ribs, just below her right breast. The intensity had sent her gasping and coughing, fighting to breathe against a sensation that she logically shouldn’t have felt. She had left the lair and returned to her apartment, clinging to Penelope for dear life as the pain dulled and then flared again, back and forth.

“What does that mean?” she finally asked, stopping her circuit in front of Tommy.

“I’ve only heard of such a bond once, in passing, during my travels through the afterlife. It would appear you and Oliver are soulmates. The strongest bond two souls can share. Transcending body and the physical world.” He stepped closer and held up a hand. “Highfive!”

Her mouth dropped and she slapped his hand away. “This isn’t something to celebrate.”

“I know. It must suck. But hear me out,” he implored, then he reached forward and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “You’ve found something most people never do. You’ve found your eternal companion. That’s not easily done.”

A sadness flickered in his eyes and she frowned. “Laurel wasn’t your soulmate, was she?”

He smiled briefly before shaking his head. “No, but she came pretty damn close.”

She let those words hang in the air between them, waiting for him to go on. The loft was so quiet. Unnaturally so. It reminded her of her first year working on the team. The silence. The brooding. The manpain. It had been hell.

“I’ve been watching over all of you,” Tommy said, breaking her train of memories. “It has made me so proud to see Oliver move forward and become a hero. I wish I could tell him that.”

“You will someday.”

Ignoring her hopefulness, Tommy clapped his hands together and grinned. “Anyways. Are you ready to take the next step? I mean, you can see me now so you’re definitely in the right state of mind.”

“What’s the next step?” she asked.

“Leaving this world for another.”

She raised a brow at the words. “What does that entail,  _ exactly _ ?”

He chuckled. “Discovering your heaven. Building it up so that when Oliver joins you, it will be perfect.”

His words floated between them for a few moments as she attempted to grasp what she had heard. The aches she had felt moments before subsided, replaced with an excitement that surprised her. “You mean, I’ll see Oliver again… like, in a real way? Well, real in whatever way it is real in heaven.” She took a deep breath. “You mean, I’ll be able to spend eternity with Oliver?”

He nodded, smiling his trademark smile. “If you’re really soulmates… yes. Yes, you’ll be able to spend eternity pushing Oliver’s buttons.”

She laughed. Her first real laugh since waking to discover she had died. She recalled all the little arguments she had endured with Oliver in the span of their relationship. The wrong coffee order. Shrinking an article of clothing in the laundry. Little lies. She tried to imagine an eternity that included such moments, mixed with their passionate apologies. It didn’t seem too bad. She tried to imagine an eternity residing in domestic bliss with Oliver; to live the life he had given up years before when H.I.V.E. took hold of Star City. The prospect of Oliver returning to his happy, sappy self made her grin like a fool and laugh some more.

“When can we go?” she asked Tommy.

His smile, somehow, widened. “Now, if you’d like.”

She glanced up at the second floor landing and the bedroom door just beyond that. She wanted to prepare their eternity. She wanted to make sure all was perfect. But something within her made her hesitate.

Tommy cleared his throat. “I’ll give you a minute to say goodbye.” And then he was gone.

For the last time she climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom, her eyes falling on Oliver’s sleeping form. It had been a long time since he had suffered night terrors. She liked to believe that she was the reason for that significant change, but she knew better. It had taken his own growth and perseverance. She was simply the support he needed.

But now he was tossing and turning, his arms wrapped tightly around Penelope. Sweat drenched his shirt, making the fabric cling to his body. His face was scrunched in fear and pain, his lips mumbling something she couldn’t understand; so often his Russian vocabulary came out in his dreams.

She sat in the small space at the edge of the bed, trying not to touch him. But his squirms sent him crashing into her. He whimpered in his sleep, ceasing his agitated movements. He didn’t scream like before, but the grief was clear in the soft sobs that escaped him. She leaned down and placed one last kiss onto his cheek, ignoring her instinct to stay away from him. When her lips parted from his slick skin, she whispered one last thing to him. The only thing that mattered.

“I love you, Oliver Queen.”

In that instant, the room shifted and transformed around her, blurring and swirling before slowly gaining distinction. Doorways and furniture and solid ground. An outrageous amount of godawful music. Once everything settled, she found herself in the middle of a large dance floor at the center of a neon decorated nightclub. The crowd was rowdy and ridiculously plastered. She laughed.  _ Only Tommy Merlyn’s heaven would consist of alcohol and loose women. _

“Hey! There’s nothing wrong with a little fun,” Tommy said directly into her ear.

She laughed. “I thought you were taking me to my heaven…”

He gestured around. “Just a little detour. I had to check on some things before we moved on.” When she raised a brow, he rolled his eyes. “When you give people access to your heaven, you have to manage it a little better than if you keep it private.”

“So, essentially, you’re the party capital of the afterlife?”

He smiled as he lifted a glass of champagne to her in toast. “Precisely.”

They made the rounds, checking on patrons and making sure all was well. Tommy chatted with different ladies and winked with every innuendo. Felicity began to wonder if that was how Oliver had been before Lian Yu.  _ Without a doubt…  _ she decided.

Finally Tommy led her into his office and closed the door. After placing his glass on the desk, he snapped his fingers. Their surroundings changed again, shifting from the fancy office into a bright red and green world of ones and zeros, jumbled and incomplete.

Felicity followed the strings of figures, glimpsing small sequences of legible code. “This is my heaven? Computer coding?”

Tommy shrugged. “Seems fitting, right?”

She giggled, reaching out to drag two separate lines of code together. At her feet, a potted fern materialized, matching the emerald flitting around them. “It’s perfect!”

Tommy laughed and patted her on the back. “Looks like you have your work cut out for you, Felicity. Good luck. I’m sure you’ll work wonders with all these numbers.”

She grinned and picked up the fern, letting a leaf caress her cheek. “Oh… you have no idea!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing response to this story, both here on Ao3 and over on tumblr! I am so proud of this story and seeing your wonderful comments has been amazing! THANK YOU! <3
> 
> Once again, I would like to thank the wonderful folks over at @olicityficbang for putting this whole event together! Also, to the amazing @hackergoddessfelicity for making [this absolutely heartbreaking video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1f9S4YcfSB8) to go along with this fic! AND NOW! Thank you to the amazing @candykizzes24 for the lovely banner that now accompanies this fic! All of you are BRILLIANT!

 

* * *

 

 

When Tommy left, there was silence. 

Felicity tried to ignore how empty everything felt. Even with the flitting numbers and the fern at her feet, her heaven seemed cavernous and lonely. She watched the code scroll and soar, tracking incomplete strings to pair together. Her fingers twitched, itching for a keyboard to dance upon. A moment later, she paired three small lines together and a simple desk sprouted in front of her. She placed the fern on one side, then created a chair and a keyboard with five more lines.

The desk and chair were almost exact replicas of the set she worked from within the lair. She ran a hand over the chair’s back and sighed. So many memories. So many tragedies. So much had happened in that chair. She had tracked so many villains, argued with the team and even made love to Oliver... All in that chair. It was the seat of her power, and now she truly understood how much power she had possessed.

She tapped at the keys, the sound echoing in the emptiness around her. Her fingers were stiff. She cracked and popped each knuckle.  _ At least now I have no risk of arthritis,  _ she thought with a slight chuckle, then stopped, eyes widening.  _ Or is there a risk?  _ She shook her head, deciding not to think about it.

The next objects she formed were the set of photos from her and Oliver's trip around the world. She had allowed herself to enjoy the memories despite the guilt she so often encountered regarding Ray. That first year back to Star City had been a mess, riddled with terror and harsher threats than that had ever encounter. So often, she was amazed they had made it out relatively unscathed. A few scratches that turned into scars and bruises that slowly faded.

She recalled the night they had returned home, the loft quiet and peaceful after the constant cacophony of battle and screams over the comms. They had gone to up to their bedroom, shedding their clothes and jumping into the shower together, first with the intention of washing away the grime of the fight, but it had escalated steadily into a sex… making love for the sake of healing. To remind one another that they were okay, that they were still alive and in love and ready to face the next threat.

It had been a desperate act. While slow and sensual, it stole every ounce of energy that had. They had healed with each thrust and moan until they were collapsed onto the bed, Felicity enjoying the lovely thumping of his heart in his chest. They were alive, and she had been so grateful.  _ Tired, but grateful. _

She typed, letting her fingers fly over the keys as she watched the lines of code float and skitter in the air around her. She combined the numbers, stitching them together like the squares of quilts until a room began to form around her. It was plain. She didn’t need it to be anything fancy. Just a room with her desk and keyboard, chair and fern… and a window. It looked out onto the vastness of code, but she could imagine so many lovely views to give herself.

She ran through her memories. All of their favorite places from their trip around the world. She thought of all the small rentals that Oliver had adored before he had demanded they settle down. She thought of all the places she had fallen into blissful oblivion with him. The views and the sheets and his smile.

She shook her head. If she dwelled on Oliver too much, it would overcome her and she would never build their heaven.

She settled on one view. A view they had adored on their travels. A place they had both enjoyed, basking in their passion and peace and the loveliness of the location.

Felicity let her fingers fly over the keys, the tapping slowly becoming less deafening as the world began to brighten outside the window. The colors of a vibrant sunrise began to replace the green and red of the code. She typed another set of code and a large screen appeared on her desk, complete with the green and red numbers she had eliminated from the world at large. The room was set aglow by the outside light, rejuvenating her and reminding her of her plans.

She began extending the room, adding a door leading out into a larger space. She typed a small line of code and a tablet appeared on the desk beside her. She pushed the chair away and stood, gripping the tablet with a wonderful familiarity. She had grown to adore tablets, especially on her trip abroad. She had snuck off repeatedly, helping the team with the Ghost problem while hidden in public restrooms and when Oliver was out getting mimosas. Any second she had, she had been on her tablet, always hidden in a bohemian style bag that hung across her body from one shoulder. It had perfectly fit all of her items perfectly while concealing the existence of the tablet. Oliver had been so adorably oblivious, distracted by the loveliness of their time together that he never saw her own distractions.

She smiled, recalling the moment he had learned of her little deception. She had expected yelling, angry Oliver, but had been gifted with silent, brooding Oliver. She hadn’t expected a quiet Oliver to be so terrifying.

With a few more strings of code, an imitation of that bohemian bag settled across her body from her right shoulder, the simple beading jingling and shining in the morning light. She turned away from the desk and the window and made her way to the door she had created. It looked out onto an empty room with many off-shoots for others. She began typing against the screen, creating furniture to fill the space. A living room. Nothing like their room in suburbia. Nothing like the five star resorts they had frequented on their travels. This was new. This was a place for an eternity.

Thick cushions, luxurious woodwork, fluffy rug for a very specific purpose in mind settled next to a fireplace that was already roaring. She scattered photographs and artwork around the walls and tables and lined a bookshelf with volumes she knew better than her own back story.

She moved to the kitchen, a domain designated for Oliver. He was a cooking master, something she had never expected. She had been surprised she hadn’t gained an enormous amount of weight while settled in that little suburban house, eating his hearty meals and decadent desserts. She had never gone hungry, never been left to wonder what should be made for dinner. It had been wonderful.  _ Though the occasional Big Belly Burger would have been wonderful too. _

She modeled the kitchen after that expansive one he had loved so much. The same countertops, the same stove and oven, the same giant fridge with epic ice machine and even the air popcorn popper. Suddenly she longed for a bowl of buttered popcorn.

Felicity tamped down the desire and moved on to a small dining room. She quickly decorated it and moved on, uninterested in it, knowing it was simply for show.  _ The only person we can entertain is Tommy, and I have a feeling he’ll prefer to have us entertained at his mansion. _

She lined a hall with more artwork and thin rugs to keep the hardwood flooring from freezing their toes. Then she made it to the final room. The bedroom.

It was empty. A saddening sight.

She had spent so much time in bedrooms over the last few years, losing herself in Oliver over and over again. There had been a time when she had questioned whether she had done something wrong by allowing that. But then she had grown to love it, finding herself anew in his blue eyes and patient smile. If she were to dive into needless distraction, it would only be in his arms and their bed.

She sat in the center of the room and closed her eyes, allowing herself to recall the wonderful rooms they had occupied throughout their time together.

The candles of Nanda Parbat flickered in her mind.

The fluttering, sheer white curtains from their villa in Italy danced.

The enormous bed from their time in Spain.

The open air bedroom from their stay in Bali.

It all came back to her, hitting her with the romance and the intensity and the quiet oblivion she had fallen into with him. And then it happened. The floodgates opened up. Her eyes brimmed with white hot tears and her hands began to shake. She tucked her tablet into her bag and then covered her face in her hands. She felt a loss in the pit of her stomach that she hadn’t felt since the day her father left, never to return. She felt a pain in her heart that she hadn’t felt since the weeks she believed Oliver was dead.

She felt hollow and completely full at the same time, two sensations battling for dominance within her. And it all caused the tears to slip down her lashes and onto her cheeks, staining her pale skin with sorrow.

“Oliver,” she whispered.

For a moment, all was silent, the name hanging in the air unheard and unanswered. And then she felt it. The pain in her heart doubling in intensity, ripping at her chest and trickling a searing heat throughout her body. For a moment she wondered if she had been sent to the wrong afterlife.  _ Maybe this is what hell fire feels like…  _ But then she heard it. A sound she thought she had escaped. A scream that sent broken shivers up and down her spine, jagged and unwanted.

Oliver’s pained screams echoed through the house she had built, jumping off surfaces and pounding on the walls like a criminal trying to break out.

“Oliver,” she choked out, and the the screams responded.

He could hear her.  _ He can hear me. _

Suddenly the light shining through the windows darkened, clouds covering the sun. Rain pattered against the roof and attacked the windows in thick sheets. Felicity stood and went to the window, her heart falling even more.

The world she had imagined and coded was cast into shadow. Winds tossed the trees this way and that, sending leaves everywhere, bending the limbs to the point of snapping. The shoreline in the distance was shrouded in thick fog, keeping the waves of the tide hidden. But she knew the water was choppy. And then the rain. Furious rain. Furious like the rage she knew Oliver must be feeling.

Rage and heartache. The worst kind of grief. The most destructive.

The rain was his unshed tears, battering her heaven - their heaven - in the most threatening way. They both hated storms, feared the thunder and lightning with everything within them. She had always hated them. In Vegas, severe storms meant flash floods and trees falling and power cutting out in the middle of her favorite cartoons. For Oliver, she knew only one thing, and it was enough to make her be brave in the face of storms: such weather reminded him of the island, of his time in hell, of his worst nightmares. Storms brought his memories back in an onslaught of horrors that she would never fully understand. The only comparison she could find was her encounter with the Count magnified a thousand-fold, and even that paled next to some of the things he had revealed to her.

She imagined Oliver, alone in the loft. She imagined herself there with him, beside him, massaging his neck the way she always had when he woke from nightmares. She imagined his body trembling and his breathing labored from his grief. Tears flooded her eyes once more and she fought the urge to sob. She took a deep, soothing breath and on the exhale she whispered. She knew she shouldn’t. She knew it would only make things worse, but she was desperate to calm him, to be the light he had always relied on. “Oliver. I’m here…”

The rain lessened, only slightly. His screaming subsided, but the stormy clouds and thick fog remained, a manifestation of all of his turmoil.

“Oliver…”

She stayed in front of the window, bracing herself against the pane. Her heart was hammering as she assumed his was. She let herself calm down, slowly. Building herself back up. Building a wall. Keeping her heart strong for the wait she would endure.

“Don’t worry, Oliver. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

She turned back to the room, wiping at her eyes as she studied the layout. She brought her tablet back out and began typing. The window she had just looked out of disappeared and was replaced by a set of french doors leading out onto a patio, framed by sheer white curtains.

Beneath her feet, a warm rug cushion her and spread across the hardwood flooring to settle beneath the bed that sprouted, proud and inviting, deep red sheets and a black comforter topping it. Beside the bed on each side, two nightstands appeared, topped with small lamps. On the other side of the room, on either side of the french doors, tiered stands held dozens of candles, unlit.  _ They will not be lit until Oliver joins me,  _ she decided, focusing on the space outside of the doors. She created a patio overlooking the distant shore, two deck chairs situated cozily.

Her breathing finally completely steadied, matching the light pitter-pattering of rain upon the roof. It wasn’t pouring, simply sprinkling. She let herself reach out, probing for Oliver’s soul that seemed so close to her own moments before. Now it felt like a gentle caress. The grief was still there, mixed with a type of peace.  _ Perhaps he is finally asleep,  _ she thought to herself, hoping.

She left the bedroom, her heart aching for some form of entertainment. She thumbed through the books on the shelves in the living room, finding a tattered copy of  _ Pride And Prejudice _ , and settled onto the couch, tossing a small woven blanket over her legs to warm her bare toes.

It did not take long for Felicity to learn the truth about heaven. It was boring.

 

* * *

 

The rain never stopped.

After what seemed like weeks, she made herself an umbrella and added a pair of boots to her growing wardrobe. She couldn’t remain inside any longer, despite the numerous changes she planned on making to the house and her distaste for rain.

She walked out the door and opened the umbrella within the screened in front porch she had added, a comforting addition. She didn’t hesitate leaving that comfort, listening as the rain battered against the roof and the mesh screens of the porch. She ran out, her boots sinking into the gravel path leading down to the shore.

She held tight to the umbrella, recalling a time on their trip around the world when a storm had rolled in, ruining their picnic on the beach. But when she had attempted to run back to the car, Oliver had pulled her back. _ “No, no,” _ he had insisted, bringing her into his arms.  _ “Let’s stay. Walk the beach.” _

_ “But it’s pouring, Oliver.” _

_ “Adventure. Let’s have an adventure.” _

She had raised a brow, a smile tickling at the side of her mouth. His excitement was always so contagious. So tangible. She knew it had to have been due to the lack of happiness and normal excitement he had experienced in those eight years. _ “Adventure? In the rain?” _

_ “Why not?” _

She could still see the rain catching on his lashes, making his blue eyes a bright gray that she had never seen before. It was breath-taking. Even now, in the loneliness of their heaven. The memory was breath-taking.

She let the chill and wetness of heaven soak into her body, reminding her of the source of the storm. Once she reached the sandy shore, she came to a halt, letting her eyes fall onto the water, a murky green in the dull weather. So much like that day.

They had walked the beach, clothes clinging to their bodies and her hair plastered to her neck. Their hands were woven together, fingers wrapped tight, wrists pressed together. She remembered feeling his heartbeat there, next to her own. She cherished his heartbeat, grateful it was still going, strong and confident and all hers to listen to. It had been a sweet lullaby at night and a rhythm to make love to. A symbol of life and love. Everything she had needed. Everything she still needed.  

As she moved forward, imagining Oliver beside her, holding her hand in his, the rain changed intensity. The wind picked up speed, changing from a gentle breeze to furious gusts that threatened to dismantle the umbrella in her hands. The raindrops grew larger and their shower faster and thicker, slanted with each gust. Her umbrella was unnecessary. She folded it, feeling the frigid droplets slither through her hair and slip down the collar of her coat. She shivered as a burst of lightning streaked the sky and thunder drummed against the clouds.

Then she heard it. Swords clashing. Arrows soaring. Grunts of battle. The slicing of flesh. Oliver’s panting and cursing. Then searing pain in her chest, breaking into her heart, disrupting her beating for just a few moments. Just long enough for her to collapse into the sand.

Oliver’s voice disappeared, replaced by the frantic shouts of another man. A man close. A man standing over her.

But the pain was too much. Her eyes were clenched shut and she held her hands to her chest, just between her breasts.  _ Make it stop. Make it stop! _

“Felicity?”

Tears seeped out of her closed lids, mixing with the rain that shot across her face like needles of ice. She shook her head. “Make it stop!”

“Felicity? Please.”

She opened her eyes to find Tommy standing above her, brow furrowed and eyes rimmed with red. “Tommy, please, make it stop!”

“Make what… oh…”

He just watched her, eyes wide and lips shut tight. He brought a hand up to his hair, pulling at the strands.

Then she heard Oliver’s voice in her head, one last time, breathing her name quietly and weakly. The pain disappeared with the last syllable, replaced by cavernous peace. She sat up, hands still fisted over her heart. The emptiness within her clawed at her, driving her into trembling sobs, one name escaping her lips. “Oliver!”

 

* * *

 

It took a small eternity for Tommy to bring her up to the house. He settled in, boiling a pot of tea and closing all the windows. He built a fire and covered Felicity with a blanket.

She knew she could do all of this herself, as she had so many times, but it seemed meaningless now. Her connection to Oliver, the reason for her ease and comfort in heave, was severed. She needed answers. She needed to know what had happened.

As Tommy handed her a mug of hot tea, she glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. “You know what happened out there, don’t you?”

For a while he simply stared at her, his own mug cooling on the coffee table. His eyes were still lined with red, the telltale sign of tears. He sat across from her, on the edge of the cushion, and hid his face within his hands. It reminded her of stressful moments in the lair. Oliver did the same thing in an attempt to remain in control of himself, to be normal, to keep from going off on one of them.

“Tommy, please. I need to know.”

He looked up, fear flickering in his eyes. He inhaled deeply, forcing in courage. “Oliver’s dead, Felicity.”

She shook her head. “If he were dead… he’d be here.”

“No. Not always.”

His words made no sense. He had promised her that they would share a heaven. That she would wait for him. That one day he would join her. Forever. “What’s that supposed to mean, Tommy?”

He fell back into his seat, massaging his temples. “If he had died in normal circumstances, he would most certainly be here, with us. With you.”

“ _ Normal circumstances _ ?” Felicity repeated, confused. “What does that mean?”

“It means that Oliver killed himself, Felicity.”

She stood up, the woven blanket falling to the floor, pooling at her feet. “No. No.” She began to pace, her bare feet padding against the wood floor, frozen from the storm. “No. He would never do that.”

“He went up against an enemy, begging for him to end his suffering.”

“You’re lying to me! You’re lying!”

Tommy stood and reached for her. She wrenched her arm away from him. His frown deepened. “I would never lie to you.”

“There’s no way you’re telling the truth! He would never do that! There are too many people who rely on him. Too many lives on the line. He’s stronger than that!” Then she recalled the sounds she had heard, mixed in with the storm. Sounds of a battle. And the excruciating pain. “He… he couldn’t…”

“I’m sorry, Felicity.”

The emptiness grew, spreading throughout her body, freezing her to the core. She collapsed to the floor, her body shaking with more sobs that originated at the center of that void. The void in her soul. “Where is he?” she asked between sobs.

“Somewhere you cannot go,” Tommy said.

“Where?”

“Hell… well… a hell of his own making.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think?
> 
> Follow me places:  
> tumblr - arrow-through-my-writers-block.tumblr.com  
> twitter - @miss_writer


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to everyone for supporting this story! I am so pleased that it has been so well received. And thank you to the lovely @hackergoddessfelicity for the amazing video and @candykizzes24 for the amazing covers/banners! Y'all are glorious and deserve all the hugs and chocolate imaginable! <3
> 
> And without further ado, chapter three! I apologize that it is a short chapter... but it is still important.

[Check out the video here!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1f9S4YcfSB8)

* * *

 

It took her hours to calm down. Hours to cease her cries and sobs and wails. It took her a few more hours to stop shaking and another half hour to finally warm up. In that time, Tommy had remained silent, letting her take in the small bit of information he had given her. “One step at a time,” he had said, bringing her more tea. 

She had sipped the tea. Five cups of it. Three cups of green tea and two cups of sickeningly sweet chamomile. She was as relaxed as she ever would be.

“Explain everything to me, please,” she said, staring at Tommy with forceful eyes.

He nodded sadly. “Okay. Since Oliver begged for death, essentially killing himself,” Tommy winced at the words, “he is unable to join you.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the rules.”

“Who made these rules?”

Tommy shrugged. “God? The universe? A giant, controlling asshole? I have no idea. I just know the rules.”

“I guess I don’t understand them.”

“He destroyed the path his soul was to take, Felicity. He wasn’t meant to die so soon.” Tommy snapped his fingers and a paper appeared. “It says here that he should have joined you when he was in his eighties. Not now. Not this soon.” The paper faded away before she could take hold of it, and something within her said she should be grateful. “He broke the rules.”

“Can I bring him here?”

“No,” Tommy hissed, without hesitation. “He has to endure his punishment until the true time of his death.”

“In his own hell?”

Tommy nodded. “Yes.”

“Can I rescue him?”

Silence fell between them at her question. Tommy studied his hands, clearly contemplating. Felicity looked around at the home she had built for them, so empty without Oliver. So boring and quiet. Beside her, on a table next to the couch, a photo of them was turned toward her. Their smiling faces looked out, oblivious to the tragedy that awaited them. So innocent. So happy. So in love. A new set of tears slipped down her cheeks, dripping off her jaw and onto her collarbone. She wiped them away with a trembling finger.

“I’ve heard of people trying to do that,” Tommy began finally, voice low and conspiratorial. “Soulmates have attempted it before. But it is not easy. For all of them, it was impossible.”

“What did they have to do?” Felicity asked, voice hoarse from her grief.

“The one in heaven had to travel to their soulmate’s hell.”

“That seems pretty easy… All I have to do is-”

“No,” Tommy interrupted, his tone harsh and fearful. “No, Felicity. It might be easy to go there, but to leave Oliver’s hell… that’s a completely different matter.”

She studied Tommy’s face for a few moments, tracing each line of worry with her eyes, connecting them to his words. “What does that mean?” she asked finally.

He collapsed back into the cushions and covered his face with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, if only alcohol actually did something here,” he said jokingly. Once he uncovered his face, she saw his frown. “Even if you make it into his hell, you might never make it out. His guilt and shame would be overwhelming - crippling - and could suck you into his punishment with him. There’s no guarantee you can fight that off.”

Felicity let the words linger in the air, grabbing at the ones she didn’t fully understand and analyzing them. Everything reminded her of one thing. One important detail of their relationship. One comment Oliver had made on their trip around the world, cuddled beneath the sheets, naked bodies pressed so tightly together they had seemed to be one being. _ “You’re my light, Felicity,” _ he had said in a whisper, so tender and almost unheard.

She had been dozing off, the events of the day and the intensity of their time in bed draining her of all energy. But she had smiled at the words.  _ “What do you mean?” _ she had asked.

_ “You repeatedly bring me out of the darkness. You’re my light.” _ He had kissed the tip of her nose, lips slightly chapped and still warm from their love making.  _ “You’re my light,” _ he had whispered once more before falling into a peaceful sleep. More peaceful than usual.

She opened her eyes and met Tommy’s gaze. “I have to try, Tommy,” she said. Forceful. Confident. Desperate. “I have to try to save him.”

For a moment Tommy remained silent, their gazes locked as if in challenge. He clearly did not agree with her. He clearly did not support the idea or the risk. But then he sighed deeply, defeated. “Okay… There’s somewhere we must go first.”

 

* * *

 

They left her heaven behind, rain still falling. Less like a downpour and more like a mist. She didn’t realize the moment they shifted into another heaven. One moment she was soaking with Oliver’s grief-created rain and the next she was dry and warm. The world beyond her own was bright. Golden. Built in skyscrapers and soaring bodies with capes and lilting laughter. She watched in awe.

“What is this place?” she asked, taking it all in.

“Just one section of a greater place,” Tommy said. “One part of heaven. Reserved for heroes.”

“Heroes? Like superheroes?” she asked, pointing toward a woman soaring with a bright red cape trailing and fluttering behind her.

“Something like that.”

They walked through the sprawling city at a quick pace, Tommy leading the way. Purposeful. Destination set, though Felicity was unsure why they had to be in such a place.  _ This is a waste of time… _

They stopped in front of a tall, ancient building, windows high and revealing rows of shelves filled with leather volumes. Within, men and women in white robes looked after them, hands gentle and faces full of reverence. “What is this place?” she asked as they stepped through the double doors etched with carvings of angels.

“Records Hall,” Tommy answered simply. When she did not answer, he elaborated. “This building houses the accounts of every hero’s life, from birth to death… even their multiple lives if they’ve been reincarnated. We can see here, for certain, how Oliver was supposed to have died, as well as when.”

Felicity shook her head, recalling not only the paper Tommy had presented to her back at the house, but a time months and months before. “We already know when he was supposed to die,” she reminded him. “Eobard Thawne told him he was supposed to die in twenty-seventy-one. He would have been eighty-six years old.”

Tommy ceased his progress toward the front desk, spinning to confront her. “If that is true, then his torment will be much worse than I imagined.”

Felicity stared at Tommy, her hands beginning to shake at her sides. She clenched her fists tight, resisting the urge to allow her fingers to twitch in the same way Oliver’s had so often. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His cryptic comments were beginning to wear her down, causing her confidence to dwindle into a slight spark. It was disheartening.

“That’s fifty-five years he has to remain in his personal punishment if you cannot save him, and-”

“I’ll save him. I have to.”

Tommy smiled, pressing a comforting hand onto her shoulder. “It’s great that you have such confidence, but like I’ve said, it is not that easy.”

Felicity rolled her eyes, her patience thinning. “Why don’t you set me on the right track and let me save him instead of letting him sink into his hell even more!”

Her shout disrupted the quietness of the building, causing the men and women around them to glare disapprovingly at her.

Tommy pushed her out the door, apologies flying left and right. Once outside, he held her shoulders, steadying himself against her. He looked her in the eye, gaze intense and worried and full of pride. “I can take you to the brink of the general populace of hell, but I cannot follow you any farther.” He smiled then, a glint of sadness in his eyes. “Oliver is lucky to have you, Felicity. Truly.”

She grinned, her nervousness building. But the thought of being reunited with Oliver was enough to strengthen her resolve and courage. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think?
> 
> Follow me places!  
> tumblr - @arrow-through-my-writers-block  
> twitter - @miss_writer


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has been so long since I've updated. This last month has been insane. But here's the next chapter. It is a lot longer than the previous one. Enjoy! And as usual, thanks a million to @hackergoddessfelicity for the amazing trailer and @candykizzes24 for the brilliant covers. I love you guys! :D

[Check out the brilliant trailer here!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1f9S4YcfSB8)

* * *

 

They stood at the edge of a great cliff, feet inches from dropping off, wind whipping through Felicity’s hair. Her boots were caked with mud and grime, once black but now an odd gray. At the bottom was a great expanse of fiery wasteland, sprawling and lonely. Clouds were low and threatening, looming dark and casting the world into a fearful gloom. She took a deep breath. 

Below were horrors. Below were terrifying visions of torment. Below were hints at the punishment Oliver might be enduring.  _ I must save him,  _ she reminded herself, heart pounding.

“There’s a series of steps down,” Tommy explained, pointing to an outcropping that sunk down thanks to steps carved into the cliff-face. “Once below, I can’t promise you that you’ll be welcomed. I have no clue what you might see there. But, no matter what, you have to keep walking. No matter what you see, no matter what you face, you have to keep walking.” He pointed then, out at the far distance. A towering mountain range stood there, far and majestic, draped in mist and thunderous clouds. “Oliver will be somewhere there. You’ll know his hell when you find it.”

Felicity nodded, reaching out to give Tommy a crushing hug. She needed some form of comfort and closeness. She needed a moment to build up her courage again. “Thank you, Tommy,” she whispered.

“Don’t mention it, Smoak. I have faith in you.”

When they broke apart, a silence fell that spoke volumes. They were both afraid. They were both grieving. They were both feigning the confidence. She stepped toward the outcropping and paused, gazing out over the fires below and toward the mountains beyond.  _ I’m coming, Oliver. _

 

* * *

 

The cliff towered over her, shrouding her and the land beneath in shadows. Flames burst from the ground, licking out for anything to consume. She stepped lightly, ready to jump aside at a moment’s notice. If it were Oliver traveling through such sprawling desolation, he would not struggle. He would not stumble. Felicity let out a long subdued sob, hunching over, hands on her knees. “What am I doing?”

The flames roared, sporadic and dangerous. In the distance, thunder cracked and rumbled, echoing off the land. Screams followed. Tormented, desperate screams. Pained. Terrified.

She kept her eyes locked on the looming mountains, unwilling to glimpse the horrors hell could bestow upon onlookers. But the screams and cries were enough to bring images to mind. Images of medieval torture. Of racks and stocks and whips and scalding irons. Ancient depictions of hell’s punishment that certainly could be true.

The terrain was uneven, pocked with simmering holes and pools of magma. Smoke attacked her nostrils, seeping into her lungs, springing up coughing fits with every few steps. And then she heard them.

Voices.

Familiar voices.

Voices from her past.

Voices she never wanted to hear again.

_ “Well consider this your penalty for making me go to plan b in the first place.” _

The thunder crashed and the wind picked up, whooshing around her like the path of an arrow.

_ “She is quite lovely… your Felicity.” _

Lightning struck against the mountains, eerily similar to the slinking metallic sound of a blade against its sheath.

_ “Just because we used to screw doesn’t mean I won’t use this gun.” _

A burst of flame lit up a few feet from her, wafting heat in her direction like the heated breath of an enemy’s mouth much too close to one’s own.

_ “You need to tell Oliver goodbye. Tell him how much you love him. Tell him whatever it is your heart needs to express. And do it now. Before he is lost to you forever.” _

The flames sprouted anew, constant and flickering, like torchlight in an echoing hall.

_ "As long as they’re still alive, you have something to fight for. That is what I am taking away from you.” _

Cold, toxic air swirled around her, threatening to suffocate her, to steal her oxygen. She closed her eyes in an attempt to calm herself, to remind herself where she was and why she was there.

“They are not here. They are all in my head,” she murmured, clenching her fists at her sides. “They are not here. They are all in my head.”

She continued on, the familiar voices fading away, quickly replaced by the previously heard tormented screams. Her hands trembled and her heart raced. Her boots sank into inches of burnt earth, adding to the grime. But she never faltered. She never ripped her gaze from the mountains, watching as they drew closer with each step.

She climbed a dune of red and black sand, leaving the jumping flames behind her. The grains shifted beneath her, hindering her progress until she crouched, climbing it on her hands and knees. Her hands sank, coming up caked in sand mixed with sweat. But she reached the top. She stood, staring out at the mountain range. Majestic. Terrifying.

She took a step down and began to tumble, footing lost in the loose sand. She flipped and rolled, crashing into the dune, the grains burning and scraping her skin. And then she hit water.

Frigid water.

Water that hadn't seen below before.

Water that tasted of salt.

She forced her way to the surface, the choppy waters churning around and pulling her every which way. Her lungs ached. Burned. Begging for air. Her head finally escaped and she gasped, sucking in all the air she could until she felt nauseated.

Then she heard it.

"Oliver!"

She turned in the water, kicking her legs and flailing her arms in an attempt to see who had shouted his name. Then she saw it.

A life raft with an eerie blue-white light shining from within. She watched as Oliver crawled in, khaki shorts clinging to his thighs and his button up shirt wrinkled and dripping. She screamed his name. Cried out. Splashed about. He did not hear her. He was calling for Sara. Desperate. Panicked. So different from the man she loved.

She swam to the boat and climbed in. The occupants took no notice of her arrival, as if she weren't there at all. They sat around, watching the sinking yacht in the rain.

“Here, son. Drink,” Robert Queen said, thrusting a single bottle of water into Oliver’s hands.

“What the hell are you doing?” the other man protested, staring at the father and son in disgust. “That’s all we’ve got!” Felicity turned her attention back to Oliver. Enthralled. Before she had met him - the new him… the hardened killer turned gentle cuddler - she had admired his photograph on Moira’s desk. The raised brows. The confrontational stare. Now she saw a different man. More a boy. A boy terrified and shivering, adrift in the North China Sea.  _ This was the beginning… _

“If anybody’s making it outta here, it’s gonna be him!” Robert said, face stricken with regret. “I’m so sorry! I thought I’d have more time. I’m not the man you think I am.”

She glanced between Oliver and Robert, taking in the conversation, even over the pouring rain, gusting winds and lapping waves. “I didn’t build our city. I failed it. And I wasn’t the only one.”

After this hint at the truth, time moved slowly. Dragging. The rain ceased. The sky brightened, and a new day began. And Oliver’s steps into the darkness lengthened. She heard Robert whisper to Oliver, conspiratorially. Then, with one final kiss to Oliver’s forehead, Robert took out a gun, shooting the other man. The whiner.

“Dad?!”

“Survive.” And a final bullet took Robert Queen from Oliver’s world. Felicity listened to Oliver’s cries. His painful, weakened mourning. It weakened her. Rocked her to her core. Reminded her of the cries he had let out in the loft, when he believed he had been alone. But she was there. And had made it worse.

Then the world shifted. Like the world had shifted when she’d been avoiding the reality of her fate - the reality of her death. The rain and choppy seas shifted beneath her, transforming until she felt solid ground and a tense silence in the air. She looked around.

She was in a tent - a military style tent with camouflaging draped around it. Tech was scattered across tables, cords and wiring lining the ground and leading out. Then she noticed him. Oliver. Kneeling beside a woman - Shado. They were both filthy, bloodied, tired and confused, staring at the opposite end of the tent.

“The uniform suits you, Yao Fei,” a man said, slight mocking etched into his voice. “Any time you’re ready.”

She followed Oliver’s gaze to find a man poised in front of a camera, Chinese uniform hugging his form. But his face was just as weakened and tired as Oliver’s. And it was obvious he did not want to be there. “To the people of China and citizens of the world,” Yao Fei began, voice full of forced pride. “I make this statement voluntarily… taking responsibility for the shooting of Ferris Air flight six-three-seven to protest the People’s Republic of China’s treatment of me…”

Felicity glanced toward Oliver, desperately longing to hold him. To tell him that no matter what he might witness in the coming moments, it would all be okay. Everything would be alright.

“...For betraying and abandoning me to the island of Lian Yu. Consider this my righteous delivery of powerful vengeance.”

The other man shut the camera off with a distinct click and beep in the heavy silence. Felicity returned her gaze to Oliver. She knew how this story ended. She knew what this would do to him. She knew exactly how this would change him. “Oliver…” she murmured, sensing his rage. Sensing his questions. Sensing everything roiling and charging within him, building him into the man she had met that morning in Queen Consolidated’s IT Department. She could see it rising within him, not quite there but waiting for an opportunity to spring.

“Thank you,” the man said, causing Oliver and Shado to sigh in relief. Then he pulled out the gun - the gun she knew would be wielded - and shot Yao Fei. Blood sprayed from the back of his skull and poured from the entrance wound as he fell backward to the ground. Oliver screamed. Shado screamed, mourning her father - mourning her Ba.

As the men within the tent continued with their plans, Oliver stared at them. Shocked. Terrified. Deep inside, plotting.

And then the world shifted once more, tearing her away from the trauma of the tent and into the forests of Lian Yu. The night was dark, the moon barely pushing through the trees. Oliver and Shado are being led through the forest, along with a blonde Felicity knew too well.  _ Sara… _

“Anthony,” Sara panted, exhausted from the pace the armed men were setting. “You got what you wanted. You can let them go.”

Felicity watched as the group, as a whole, ceased their progress through the trees, turning to watch the exchange between Sara and their leader. Oliver shivered in the windy night, tired and worn. Felicity longed to reach for him, once again, to comfort him. But he didn’t see her. She was not really there.

“If you ever cared about me,” Sara continued, inching closer to the man, eyes desperate. So much younger and so much more naive.

“But I do care about you, Sara,” Anthony interrupted, looking down on Sara as if she were a child. Felicity felt Oliver’s worry and anger building up. Everything that had happened so far on the island slowly transforming him, shifting his inner being. It caused an unbearable ache in her chest. “Which is why I won’t choose to kill you. But he might.” Anthony pointed to Oliver and all heads turned, shocked. Confused.

“What are you talking about?” Oliver asked, words slightly breathy from his weariness.

Anthony pushed Sara to the ground, then motioned for his men to do the same to Shado. They were side-by-side. Two women Oliver cared about. Two women who helped build him into the man she knew him to be. Oliver’s eyes closed for a moment, unwilling to accept the cruelty unfolding before him.

“Time to choose, Oliver!”

Oliver shook his head, still not willing to accept it.

“Who lives, and who dies. But pick quickly, because in thirty seconds, I  _ will  _ shoot them both.”

Seconds ticked by, one by one, and Oliver stood there, jaw trembling. He closed his eyes once again, just for a moment, and tamped down whatever he was feeling.

“You don’t have to do this,” Oliver spoke, voice uncharacteristically steady for his younger self, but still slightly whiny. Full of desperation. “You got what you came for! Just take it and go!”

Anthony drew back the hammer, cocking the gun. “Ten seconds.”

The look on Shado’s face was one of acceptance. The same acceptance Felicity had glimpsed on Oliver’s face in so many situations, but never in ones involving those he loved.

“You freaking psychopath!”

The look on Sara’s face was one of fear, but beneath it… beneath her tears, rested acceptance.

“History will make that judgement,” Anthony recited. Like he had said those words on numerous occasions. “Five seconds.”

Those last seconds ticked by and Oliver’s choice was not made. Felicity’s heart was hammering at the same pace as his. Terrified. Angry. Confused. The same constant emotions that fueled his time on the island. The ones he had resided in during his first year back in Starling.

“Time’s up,” Anthony said, then trained the gun to the back of Sara’s head.

Oliver moved, frantic. “No! No!” He knelt in front of Sara, staring Anthony down. Beside them, Shado closed her eyes, a visual representation of her heart sinking.

“I guess you made your choice.”

The gunshot rang out, echoing off the trees and sailing on the wind, followed by Oliver’s pained shouts. And then the world shifted once more, painful and ripping. Throughout the darkened void that formed around her, Felicity heard voices. Voices different from those in the fiery wasteland. Voices she knew. Voices of those she both loved and despised. All of them blending together in a horrific cacophony as the void pressed against her, pulling at her resolve.

Then she heard it. Her father’s voice saying goodnight. That final goodnight. The one she would never forget no matter how many attempts she might make.

_ “Goodnight, my genius girl.” _

She closed her eyes and saw everything. Her pink room filled with a combination of stuffed animals and computer parts. The length of her bed surrounding her, flowery comforter enveloping her as she looked toward the bedroom door, her rainbow night-light casting the room into an endless array of colorful streaks. Her father smiled that smile he only had for her. The smile she had learned to hate… The smile she had hated until she saw it beaming at her from Oliver.

“Goodnight, daddy,” she whispered as she opened her eyes, shooing away the memories. But within seconds she regretted the decision.

The void was gone, replaced by the world. A world she was all too familiar with, despite the distortions and frigid air biting through her jacket. A shiver ran up and down her spine as she took in the destruction around her, hands shaking and teeth chattering. It was destruction she had witnessed years before, before her heart had opened and all the messes seemed to fix and right themselves. It was destruction that she knew Oliver had so often blamed himself for.

If only he had figured things out in time. If only he had been faster.

Felicity walked the streets of the frozen Glades, glimpsing remnants of more than just the Undertaking. Bullet holes and scrapes patterned along the walls. Graffiti reminding the world of Moira Queen’s involvement in the Undertaking. Anarky’s red symbol. The limo she had almost lost her life in. QC’s tower and the glass scattered where the Count had fallen.

Every encounter. Every dangerous moment. Everything that brought Oliver worry and pain and guilt.  _ How can I save him from this? _

She delved further into the condensed world of their mission, taking in all of the failures and close calls. She wondered how they had survived as long as they had, with the world so strongly against them and gaining strength with each day that had passed. She felt a small amount of pride.

_ We survived together,  _ she thought as she neared the site of the old lair.  _ We survived because we were together. _

Verdant was nothing special. Not like it had been in the height of their use of it as a lair cover. The sign was crooked and dangling from its spot above the entrance and the lights were gone, leaving it dull. Like everything within Oliver’s hell. Everything was dull. Muted and cold and so lost amongst the destruction. It spoke volumes of his inner turmoil. Felicity’s heart ached as she opened the door and entered the cavernous club.

Each step she took echoed off the old dance floor, ricocheting off the rafters and sturdy walls. Dust clung to every surface and the frigidity was worse in the dark, lonely space. She hugged her jacket closer to her and shivered.  _ How can this be his hell? _

So many things had happened in the years since the foundry had been compromised - so many failed missions, close calls and overwhelming odds. And yet, his hell was the beginning stages of his mission. The original home of his crusade. The original home of their partnership. Everything pointed to that first year.

The placement of everything within the club, regardless of the toppled tables and cracks forming in the walls, was the same as it had been that first year. She shook her head, shocked.

She made her way to the back of the club, toward the hallways behind the bar. The security door that lead down to the basement was wide open, keypad by the door frame blinking red. She slowed her stride, fearful of what she might find below.

And then she heard it.

A familiar clanging.

A repetitive clanging. Quick. Forced. Angry.

The bar and rungs of the salmon ladder. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been so long since I posted an update to this story. I honestly have no excuses except that I was not ready to write this chapter. I knew where this chapter would lead and I was not ready for it. But here it is, in all of its gut-wrenching and heartbreaking glory. Get tissues. Get wine. Get chocolate.
> 
> Note: This story was started for the Olicity Fic Bang in 2015. Cover/banners were created by the lovely @candykizzes24 on Tumblr and the video was created by @hackergoddessfelicity. Thank you lovelies! <3

Watch the story trailer [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1f9S4YcfSB8)!

* * *

 

Felicity stayed frozen at the doorway, listening to the constant clanging of the bar, the sound ringing in her ears with each connection it made with the rungs. Her heart fell, sinking into the pit of her stomach. The aggressiveness of the pace gave her a very specific signal. 

This was Oliver’s mournful, angry workout. This was the type of workout she had only seen from him in that first year. When anything and everything seemed to have stacked atop him, weighing him down until he felt caged in by the odds. This was his form of punishment - his way of reminding himself of his role in everything. Punishment and self-affliction and failed distraction.

She clenched her hands into fists and went through the doorway, finding herself at the top of the staircase. The rafters and pillars throughout the lair obscured her view of him, for which she was grateful. Despite her desperate need to see him, to touch him, to love him… she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready for everything Tommy had speculated. She wasn’t ready for what she knew she was about to face.

_ Can I get through to him? _

She shook herself out of her fear and doubt, tightening her fists until her nails formed indentations on her palms. She glanced down at her boots, caked with the world he had known before her - before she had forced him out of his own darkness. His once whispered words floated through her mind, forcing her feet to move, taking her down the stairs.  _ “You’re my light, Felicity.” _

As she made her way down the staircase, she wondered if she had ever stepped so lightly on them. Her heels had always clicked and knocked against them, loud and echoey in the hollow space of the lair. Oliver had always known when she was coming in. He always knew when to put on his less broody mask.

But now he did not hear her coming. Now he did not cease his race along the rungs. Now he did not put on his mask.

She saw him for what he was when no one had been looking. A broken man with broken spirits and a haunted soul. And it tore her heart out anew.

His body was glistening with sweat despite the cold air, dripping and steaming as he moved. His muscles were tense, bending and stretching his scars and tattoos. In any other situation, Felicity might have been drawn to him with lingering eyes and a dry mouth. But now she could not enjoy the sight. She could not enjoy what she had enjoyed for so many years.

This was heartbreak and guilt and pain and torture, all rolled into one.

“Oliver,” she whispered suddenly. She closed her eyes and silently cursed herself.  _ Stupid. That was stupid. _

She opened her eyes to find him standing in front of her, face inches away from her own. His breath was fast, beating against her face as he studied her. There was no recognition in Oliver’s eyes. No love. No hate. Just indifference.

“Who are you?” he asked, backing away slightly.

“Uh… I… I’m Felicity.”

He backed away slowly, brow raised and mouth slightly ajar. She glanced down to find his thumb and forefinger rubbing methodically together. His nervous tick. He let out a slight huff of surprise. “That… That was my wife’s name.”

Her heart fell again. He did not see her. So blinded by his grief and guilt.  _ He does not see me. _

She took a deep breath and pressed on. “Interesting. That’s not a very common name. I would know… I mean, I’ve never come across another Felicity before. Ever. Never.” She watched him as he pulled on an old sweatshirt. She knew that sweatshirt. She had once daydreamed of him wrapping it around her shoulders protectively, long before they had run away together. “She must have been pretty amazing. Your Felicity, I mean.”

He nodded. “She was remarkable.”

The word made her pause to think back to that day when he had used that word to describe her. She smiled. “I’m sure she would appreciate you remarking on it.”

Oliver took his turn to pause. He studied her some more, squinting his eyes a bit and then shook his head. “What exactly are you doing here?” he finally asked, plunging his hands into the pocket at the front of the sweatshirt. From within, she could tell his fingers were still rubbing together.

_ He’s nervous now. _

She gestured around with a spin. “Just here for an inspection.”

“Inspection?”

She nodded. “I gotta tell you, Mr. Queen, this building isn’t up to code. Have you noticed the damage?”

Oliver shrugged. “Not really.”

“Is there anyone else here?”

He frowned. “No,” he answered. “Just me.” He began to pace the square of emptiness between the work stations. “My wife died, and then everyone else left. I don’t think they agreed with how I was... _ coping _ .”

The emphasis on the word struck her. Oliver hated it. Hated the implications of it - the weakness. He had fought to cope for so long, only to realize that he had been strong enough all along. Felicity cleared her throat. The flow of conversation was leading somewhere.  _ Hopefully.  _ “I lost my husband,” she blurted out, taking a few steps forward to rest a hand on the table that once held her computers.

“Really?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s unfortunate too. He was such a hero. Always taking on so much responsibility and saving so many lives.” She closed her eyes for a moment, building up a speech… something to break through the barriers Oliver had constructed with his guilt. “He was so handsome… in anything. He could wear a suit and suspenders like nobody’s business.”

Oliver chuckled then. Lightly. Almost unheard. “My wife used to say that about me.”

“Y’know,” Felicity continued, “my husband’s name was Oliver, too.”

“Really?”

Felicity smiled and hummed an affirmative. “He looked a lot like you too. All sexy body and kind, troubled eyes.” She watched, waiting for a reaction. Some sort of expression to show that he might be feeling, thinking. “And, of course, the suit bit…”

Oliver’s brow scrunched up, furrowing and bending to bring shadows to his features. “Look, I… I’m not really up for small talk. Do your inspection and please leave.”

The sudden intensity of the dismissal shattered her hopes for a moment and she began to wander around the room, ducking beneath low beams and trailing fingers along the tables. She could feel Oliver’s eyes watching her, following her. She recalled a time, long ago, when he’d follow her with his eyes in a similar way - before they had fallen into one another. She would feel his eyes glued to her, lingering and sometimes critical, but always focused and almost always protective. She had rarely felt afraid in the lair. With his presence there, she had always felt an overwhelming sense of peace.

But now she paced the cold floor, her steps echoing off the walls to reverberate back to her ears. She felt assaulted. Battered. As if her whole world had collided in time and space in that one moment. A moment manufactured by Oliver’s own guilt and grief. All of it beat against her, a reminder of her task and the stakes. Tommy had been very clear that time would be of the essence, and she could feel herself growing weary. Her steps were slowing with a heaviness she had never felt before. And she saw that same fatigue reflected in Oliver’s movements. He was sluggish, even with the thuds and clangs of the salmon ladder’s rungs as Oliver continued his ascents and descents. On and on. Never stopping. The only sounds he made were grunts and heaving breaths.

Felicity escaped into a corner, heart racing and hands clenched at her side. She leaned against the wall, letting the solidity keep her upright as she rested her head back and closed her eyes.  _ He does not know me. He does not know me. How can I make him know me? _

“Felicity?” Oliver called out, voice floating on the stagnant air to startle her away from her sanctuary.

“Yes?” she asked as she stepped out and into view.

“Are you done with that inspection?”

Her shoulders slumped as if on their own. “It appears I am…”

“Then I think you should leave.”

“Right,” Felicity murmured, hugging her arms as she looked down, unable to keep her eyes locked with his. It was easy to sense his nervousness and confusion, and with each second that passed between them, Felicity grew impatient. She took up courage and looked up.

Oliver was eyeing her with a mixture of concern and guilt. “I-I-uh… I’m sorry. I just… can’t have anyone here right now.”

She gulped down her emotions and stepped closer to him. “It looks like you really could use some company though,” she observed as her eyes lingered on the tight set of his jaw and the slow softening of his eyes. “I mean, it just seems like you’re not in the right state of mind to be alone.”

One more step forward and she was inches away, neck craned to look up at him. She could smell his distinctive musk. Sweat and leather and a subtle hint of cologne. She had grown so accustomed to that scent over the years - so much so that she had taken it for granted. With it wafting up to her nose, she couldn’t help but close her eyes and reach out. Her fingertips trailed against his slick arm, muscles taut with the build-up of emotions within him.

He jerked away from her and turned to move back to the salmon ladder, a low growl passing through his lips and shattering her heart. “Get the fuck out, Felicity! You’re no one to me. You’re not my wife. She’s gone.”

With a stomp of impatience and heartache, she followed him. “She’s not gone.”

“Excuse me?” he hissed over his shoulder, eyes focused anywhere but her.

“She’s not gone. She’s here. She’s right here.”

“Where?”

“It’s me. Felicity.”

He spun around then, eyes squinted and brows narrowed in critical inspection. Then he shook his head. “Impossible.” He turned his back on her once again and walked away into the shadowy depths of the lair, never looking back.

Felicity stood there for a while, his footsteps reverberating within her, a painful indication of her failure. She hadn’t expected to fail - even with Tommy’s warnings, she had been so sure. So damn sure. But she stood there with his rebuke battering against her confidence, shaking her out of her certainty.  _ It’s over…  _ she thought, feeling a sudden wave of depression and heaviness. Her feet dragged as she turned, almost catching hold to the floor of the lair as if to trap her. Another one of Tommy’s warnings ran through her mind in that moment.

_ “His guilt and shame would be overwhelming - crippling - and could suck you into his punishment with him. There’s no guarantee you can fight that off.” _

Her own doubt and feeling of failure mixed with Oliver’s, melding and intensifying. Felicity felt it all as it began to crush down, to feed off her dwindling energy. “Tommy was right,” she whispered as tears sprang to her eyes, stinging and warming until they brimmed over and cut her cheeks. “I can’t reach him. I can’t rescue him.”

She made to leave, forcing her feet forward one step at a time in the hope of returning to her heaven to await Oliver’s eventual return. “I could wait that long, right?”

The very thought of living in her heaven, bored and lonely, for the rest of Oliver’s earthly life made her shiver. She had built it for them, not just herself. She had worked so hard to include everything she knew he loved and cherished from their life together.  _ How could I live without him? _

She planted her feet, the sudden halt echoing off the walls to assault her ears. She was certain Oliver had heard it; Oliver heard everything. Even in this place, his awareness was intense - perhaps even more so with all of his self-loathing heightened. She followed the path he had taken moments before, her feet stepping where his had. Her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, the shadows enveloping her - embracing her. Felicity could feel the hell of it all taking root deep within her. It sunk its claws deep within her and weakened her resolve. But she knew she had one last shot… one last thing she needed to do. She was certain it wouldn’t free Oliver, but without the words being said, she was unsure whether she could live alone. The silence would surely destroy her.

She found him on the dusty cot, his back against the wall it was pressed against, head against his knees, arms wrapped around his legs to hold himself together as he wept. She watched for a moment, throat thick and heart aching to comfort him. Then she stepped forward, boots clicking against the floor to alert him. He stiffened and his sobs cut short, but he did not look up.

“I thought I told you to leave,” he growled.

She nodded. “You did,” she answered, taking a seat beside him and a small dust cloud rose up to distort the air. She swatted it away. “But I have one last thing to say to you… well… not just one thing, but everything I have to say are related so I guess you could lump them all into one topic - one thing to say.”

“And what is it?”

She could hear the curiosity in his voice, that boyish interest she used to love creeping back in. He still did not look up.

She cleared her throat in an attempt to keep the emotion from overwhelming the impending words. “I want to thank you,” she whispered, voice wavering slightly.

“For what?” he asked as he glanced up in surprise. “All I’ve done since we’ve met is yell at you.”

Felicity grinned. “I understand why you did. You just don’t see me. You don’t realize who I really am. But maybe these words will help you.”

Their eyes locked and still no glimmer of recognition shown there, but she was certain her words would break through. She reached out and brushed his hand with her fingers, his warmth and strength giving her hope. He closed his eyes and hissed, then jerked away from her.

“You were always the one to give thanks. You were always the one thanking  _ me  _ for being in your life, for being strong for you. Even when it seemed things wouldn’t work out, you always showed so much thankfulness.” She recalled every look, every kiss, every touch… everything. Everything he had done in their time on earth together, however brief, had been such a proclamation of how grateful he was to have her in his life. But she had never told him the same.  _ Hopefully this isn’t too little too late… _

“I need to thank you now before I’m stuck waiting for you for decades. Before it’s too late.”

His eyes opened and met hers, intrigued.

“I want to thank you for coming to me with that bullet-riddled laptop. For trusting me, even if not completely, with that dangerous task. For smiling at me like a total sap.”

He blinked, clearly recalling the same memory.

“I want to thank you for giving me every horrible excuse and lie in the book. It kept me entertained, intrigued and so incredibly certain of who you were.”

One corner of his mouth twitched with the threat of a smile.

“I want to thank you for trusting me with your secret and opening up a well of possibilities I never would have thought possible.”

He simply stared at her, listening, watching the words spill from her lips.

“I want to thank you for bringing me into the team. You gave my life purpose beyond the persona I had created for myself. You helped me realize my full potential and my true self. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

His head tilted slightly. She reached for him, trying to make contact, but he jerked away again.  _ Not yet… _

“I want to thank you for helping me find my strength and realize my courage. Without you, I never would have seen myself as much more than a nerd.”

His lips twitched again, this time one side shifting up infinitesimally. Deep inside, she threw up a fist in tiny victory. His blue eyes remained locked on hers, brimmed red with the tears he had shed and the fatigue his hell continued to force upon him.

“Thank you for remembering that my pen was red.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled and his lips turned up just a little more. Another little victory.

“Thank you for giving me your love.”

Oliver perked up at this, eyes widening slightly… just a hint of recognition shining deep within.

“Thank you for trusting me with your love, with your heart and with your soul. I don’t know if I did right by you, but the importance of that trust was never  _ ever _ lost on me.”

The widening of his eyes softened and his head lifted from its perch on his knees.

“Thank you for opening up my heart and breaking down my walls. Thank you for showing me how important love is and how strong it can be and how intense it can be. Thank you for letting me love you and thank you for helping me trust enough to be loved in return.”

The tears began to fall, unbidden, from her eyes. She hadn’t ever realized how much her love for Oliver had shaped her - how much it defined her - until the moment she thought she were to lose it. She wiped at her tears, eyes closed. She breathed deeply, then let it out. Before she opened her eyes, a hand came to her cheek, ridding her skin of residual tears. The fingertips were rough and calloused, just has she remembered them to be.

She opened her eyes once more to find Oliver had shifted. He sat next to her, hand against her face and body curling protectively around her, towering and strong and everything she had always loved. “Felicity?” he questioned as his gazed flickered across every feature of her face. Every line. Every imperfection. Every inch.

“Yes.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, the same her had given when he had realized it was her in the ATOM suit so long ago. That breathy chuckle that said everything. That breathy chuckle that expressed his overwhelming happiness. “It’s really you?”

She nodded and placed her own hand against his, fingers sliding between his. “It’s really me.”

In a swift motion his lips were against hers, a mixture of gentleness and violence that only his lips could create. Their bodies melded and their hands grasped tightly at clothes, the entire environment of hell disappearing in their bliss. They lost themselves and found themselves in one another again.

When their lips parted, certainty connected them. Oliver’s nose nuzzled against hers and she giggled. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he said with a kiss to the tip of her nose.

In the silence, the world returned; hell returned tenfold. A reminder of the truth of their circumstances. Even in their bliss, it was still there, ugly and threatening and gripping. It clawed at their souls and grasped at their resolve. But in his arms, it was all okay.

_ Even a hell such as this can’t be so bad with him in it… _

And that’s when it hit her. She was stuck. She had given in. She would live out his remaining punishment with him, deep in hell and deep in his grief. But it wasn’t terrifying. It was simply right. She let her lips graze his and whispered, “Thank you for coming back to me.”

It didn’t take long for their clothes to fall to the floor and their bodies connect, all their love and happiness and desperation linked in their physical union. The truth of their surroundings and their souls slowly faded away with each kiss… each thrust… each moan. He whispered her name and she whispered his. Their breaths mingled. Their world became that tiny bubble and all else became suddenly unimportant. She recalled a book she had read long ago and a line spoken in absolute truth.

_ “Let this hell be our heaven.” _

The words lingered in her mind until the last semblance of clarity faded and she succumbed to their shared punishment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Note: The quote Felicity recalls at the end of this chapter is from the novel "What Dreams May Come", which this story is based off. Highly recommend picking up the book or watching the film...)
> 
> What did you think? Please leave comments and kudos.
> 
> Follow me on -  
> Twitter: @miss_writer  
> Tumblr: @arrow-through-my-writers-block


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter before the epilogue! Enjoy!
> 
> As always, the covers were made my the lovely @candykizzes24 on tumblr, and the video was made by @hackergoddessfelicity.

[Check out the story trailer here!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1f9S4YcfSB8)

* * *

 

Felicity awoke to a brightness she hadn’t expected - a daylight so unlike any she had experienced before, in life or in afterlife. It stung at her eyes, forcing her to close them tight. 

Her body was stiff and sore as she attempted to lift her head, each movement etched with pops and cracks from disuse. Beneath her was a bed - an extremely comfortable bed. A feather mattress with voluminous covers wrapped tightly around her. It was luxurious and it was no wonder she hadn’t moved in so long.

Then she ceased her slow movements.  _ How long have I not moved?  _ she wondered as she let her eyes squint open, filtering the sunlight through her lashes until her eyes adjusted. The room was nearly as bright as the light, all stark whites and cheeriness. A fragrant breeze blew in from open glass doors, sheer curtains billowing in the invisible force. She inhaled deeply, the perfume of many roses and freshly cut grass filling her nose. She sighed.  _ Heaven? _

And then the next obvious question assaulted her. Tears sprang forth into her eyes, hot and stabbing, a reminder of her loss and her fight and her failure.

_ Where is Oliver? _

Her eyes widened and a panic began to set in, deep and forceful - a long felt frantic ache that she was determined to be rid of.  _ Did I fail again?  _ The idea of enduring all of that agony for nothing sent her into some form of fight or flight. The very thought offended her. The unfairness of it all crashed upon her; it weighed her down and made her feel trapped.  _ I can’t… I couldn’t… There’s no way I failed…  _ Tears began to fall from her eyes, more painful than those brought on by the sunlight. These were formed by her fears. All of them accumulating to send her down a spiral.  _ Where’s Oliver? _

Her fears forced her eyes closed once more, relieving some of the ache but not all. With her world darkened, she could pretend she had succeeded and that Oliver was simply in the next room. With her world darkened, she could believe that their love was enough to bring him back. But even with that, her doubt lingered in its designated pocket of her heart and beckoned for her to allow it to take full root there, to overwhelm it and transform her. She had never left doubt settle that deeply, but it was there.

“Felicity?”

The voice sent shivers up and down her spine. Her doubt told her to believe it was imaginary - a creation of her grief. But her hope - the hope Oliver had always clung to in life - told her it was real. He was real. They were real.  _ Oliver! _

Hesitantly, she opened her eyes once more and glimpsed the face she so desperately longed to see. Blue eyes. Dirty blonde hair. That delicious mole at the corner of his mouth. All of it. Everything. He was there in front of her, torso draped with a white linen button-down and sculpted legs wrapped in jeans. His feet were bare, toes curling around the fibers of the rug as if to cement himself on their heaven.

“Oliver?”

Her doubt worded it as a question but her hope begged for her to run to him, to latch onto the reality before her. But her muscles ached and her head could barely leave the pillow. Within seconds, Oliver was at her side, hands grasping hers and kissing her fingertips with the gentleness she remembered so vividly. That was ages ago - so far away and lost - but nothing had changed. He was still the man she loved and the man who loved her without fail.

“Felicity,” he whispered as his lips brushed her knuckles again and again. His voice was rough and choked, reflecting the existence of tears that resided in his eyes. “I’m so happy you’re awake.”

She smiled and hummed in contentment. “Thought I’d never return?”

“Exactly,” he replied flatly.

“I’ll always return to you.”

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, lips lingering there as he murmured, “I know that now, baby. I know that now.”

They sat in silence for a while, his hands holding hers tightly and the years of torment resting between them, known but not spoken of. They had endured it in loving embraces, the crushing weight of Oliver’s guilt leaving them no other option but to wait. And here they were, the punishment over and their eternity before them, waiting to be taken.

They cherished their togetherness until Felicity could move, her body ready to greet heaven. “Have you explored yet?” she asked as she dressed in a white sundress and black sandals to match Oliver’s wardrobe. She straightened his collar as he grinned.

“Not much. I’ve been waiting for you.”

She pouted at his answer as her hands slid down his chest, arms curving around the width of his body to wrap around his waist. “But I created it.”

His signature breathy chuckle escaped him as he kissed the top of her head and rubbed her bare shoulders. “I know. There’s no way it wasn’t your creation.” Then he turned and eyed the jacuzzi tub in the adjoining bathroom. “That tub says it all.” He winked.

She could feel the warmth as a blush crept into her cheeks at the teasing. “Well, mister, it looks like you won’t be joining me for a candlelit bath any time soon.”

Felicity looked up and watched Oliver’s face turn from amusement to feigned horror. “But it’s been so long since I’ve been in a bath with you…”

She recalled the last time they had. A spur of the moment trip to a cabin just outside of Star City - one of the Queen family’s remaining properties deep in the outlying woods. They had escaped for the weekend with nothing more than some bottles of wine and a change of clothes for the return trip. They hadn’t left the cabin, not once. Every surface had been christened and the tub had been their last exploration - a soothing soak to ease their muscles and connect in more ways than one.

She gave in, letting the memory influence her. “Okay… after the tour, the bath is ours.”

Oliver nudged her forward. “Lead the way.”

She babbled as they made their way through the house, the jumble of inspirations not lost on Oliver - they very fact that he understood each and every detail made Felicity beam with pride. Then she led him out and through the gardens, then out to the water, their toes sinking into the sands as the water lapped back and forth in a soothing repetition. Their hands were locked, laced together the way she loved, their pulses in perfect sync and their steps falling and lifting as one.

“This is where I learned you were gone,” she murmured at length, the memory of the storm and the pain rushing back. “That you had… ended it.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Oliver’s frown. He remained silent for a long while, brow furrowed and fingers squeezing hers at intervals. “I was so lost… without you. Lost and without hope. I never should have done that - never should have given in… given up. But it seemed like the only way out. Without you I felt empty.”

“I felt the same here, without you. But… the idea of the world going on without you to make it better - to defend it. That made it ten times worse. Without you keeping the team locked onto the mission and training hard and doing good… that just…”

“Felicity, I know…”

She pursed her lips and bit her tongue to keep the tirade at bay. “I suppose you do…” His punishment had been for exactly that - for his personal defeat. She had endured it with him.

“I hope I can forgive myself, eventually,” Oliver said, eyes transfixed on their hands.

“You will,” Felicity answered, squeezing his fingers in an attempt to inject him with the confidence she always felt where he was concerned.

They continued along the water for a few hours before making their way back to the home she had created for them. They went to the tub without pause, running the water and filling it with oils and bubbles until the scents filled the air with sweetness. It was intoxicating. Being there, with him, in flickering candlelight. The flames lit up his skin, the bronze tone making her mouth grow dry and her knees weak. He had always been gorgeous - model gorgeous - but candlelight was suited for him more than other forms of illumination. The intensity in his eyes danced with the flames as he reached down and tugged at her dress, pulling it up and over her head. He let it drop absently from his fingertips and to the floor.

She slowly unbuttoned his shirt, savoring the slowness of the action and the feel of his calloused hands against her skin as he traced her spine on his way up to her strapless bra. In mere microseconds, his fingers separated the clasp and the bra cascaded down her body followed quickly by his shirt. She bit her lip as Oliver studied her body.

He had always done that - she was grateful that hadn’t changed after their stint in grief-induced hell. He had always studied her, eyes full of appreciation and wonder, as if she were the only woman he had ever seen or would ever see again. She knew it was ridiculous, but she ate up his fascination and gave him some of her own, dragging her fingers across his chest and stomach until they landed at the button at his waistband. She bit her lip again.

Oliver let out a low growl as her fingers slipped the button free and she slid her fingers along his waist, drawing along the skin. His own fingers traveled to her panties until they no longer hugged her body, replaced by his hands as they gripped her ass tight and forceful. “Felicity,” he growled into her ear, breath hot and near a pant. He lifted her up until her legs clasped around his hips, her center grazing his body deliciously.

He spun around and began to lean forward, tilting her into the slowly filling bath until she relented and let her legs fall into the water. She sat in the tub, back against the tiled side, and watched Oliver undress fully. His body was as she remembered it, only a few new scars there to remind her of his suffering upon her death.

Oliver stepped into the bath and eased her forward, letting his body become her cushion. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him, her head pressed against his chest to hear the frantic beating of his heart - a heart that beat for her and her alone. One hand trailed up and smoothed her hair, loosening tangles and massaging her scalp.

Their intimacy had always been so much more than sex, more important than anything physical or chemical. They shared space without needing to speak or needing to force anything.

As the tub reached capacity, Felicity turned off the faucet with her foot, drowning the room in the light sounds of their breathing and the fluttering of the candle flames. She closed her eyes, taking in the feel of his body behind hers, every inch enveloping and protecting her. He would never lose that habit - the habit of protecting and guarding.

“I love you,” she said in a daze as his hands found their way down to her breasts, encompassing them affectionately.

She could feel his smile against her head as he replied, “I love you, Felicity.”

 

* * *

 

They had been in heaven for so long, a daily routine forming that revolved around their needs for each other. But the routine had begun to grow stale and their habits forced, leaving them restless. It was Oliver who admitted it first, so different from his time in Ivy Town when he ignored their complacency. But it was Felicity who took it seriously enough to call for Tommy.

“I was wondering how long it would take you guys to feel this way,” Tommy said with a wink.

“Is something wrong with us? Are we totally insane?”

Tommy laughed. “Well, yes and no.”

“Explain, please,” Oliver demanded.

“Soulmates need to be together, but part of their enjoyment in life is the quest to find their other half.”

Felicity nodded, the implications making perfect sense. “So we’re seriously just bored and need a change of pace,” she said, then laughed in an odd combination of surprise and relief. “And I thought there was something legitimately wrong with us.”

Tommy shook his head and patted Oliver on the arm. “You guys might just need to find one another again.” He let those words sink in for a bit and then said, “That’s the beauty of reincarnation.”

The word hung in the air between the three of them, big and unknown and intriguing.  _ Reincarnation? Is that even…  _ she shook her head infinitesimally.  _ Of course it is possible. If heaven is possible and soulmates are possible, reincarnation makes sense. _

Oliver crossed his arms. “And how do we go about all this  _ reincarnation  _ stuff?”

Tommy chuckled. “Glad you asked.” He clapped his hands and then the heaven Felicity created disappeared and they were transported to the records hall. “You each choose a new life.”

“That’s it?” Oliver and Felicity asked at the same time.

“Well, you do it separately. As soulmates, you’ll each know the right life when you see it. No matter what, you’ll find each other. And once you find it, all you need do is fall asleep.”

Felicity grinned. “And will we… remember _this_ life while in the new one?”

“No.”

“When we die, will we be back to this life or continue as the new one?” Oliver asked.

“Whatever you prefer.”

And then Tommy disappeared, leaving them to ponder the new information. Felicity looked over at Oliver, his eyes scanning the room of shelves and volumes, each spine etched with a name.

“You wanna do it?”

The question lingered between them, bouncing back and forth. She wasn’t certain he had been paying attention until he tugged her to him and kissed her passionately, a fierceness to his lips that she hadn’t felt before. When they broke away, he was smiling. “It’d be an honor to find you again.”

She smiled and nuzzled her nose against his, then turned away, eyes flitting around the room at all of the shelves and the names.

Her fingers laced with his for a moment, the sensation one of her all time favorites. She wondered if her new self would like that too. She squeezed his fingers one last time before letting go and stepping toward a shelf with names beginning in ‘F’, parting ways to find their new selves.

It didn’t take long for her to discover that nothing jumped out at her in her chosen letter, so she moved on, simply scanning the shelves for a volume that beckoned her. The smell of old leather meshed with new, an endless adventure for her senses. She climbed a set of stairs and found herself on the second floor balcony, towering shelves on one side and a view of the first floor on the other. Within seconds she found Oliver. His hands glided over the leather volumes and his stride was careful and slow. He was taking it seriously.

She wondered if he’d find a new self that would have a much easier go at life - fewer losses and more wins. She hoped so, and she hoped the same for herself.  _ But if we find each other, I suppose it wouldn’t matter much. _

She passed a shelf and her feet fell to the floor and rooted her in place, the click of her heels echoing off the walls. She looked to the row of books and her hand came out, fingers lingering on the lettering along a spine. She glanced back down to find Oliver doing the same.  _ This is it. This is the one. _

 

* * *

 

It was their last night together before venturing back to earth in different bodies - different souls. They had made love repeatedly, savoring every touch and moan and kiss. The night outside was calm and cool, a light breeze fluttering the curtains of the open french doors. They were cuddled in bed, her body draped along his side, head cradled in the groove of his shoulder and arm. He rubbed at her back and she stared up at the ceiling, the quiet lulling her to sleep. But it wasn’t time. It couldn’t be.

“I’m falling asleep,” she complained with a pout.

Oliver chuckled, kissing her forehead. “So am I.”

“We can’t.”

“Of course we can.”

“But how long until we meet again?”

She felt him shrug. “Not sure.”

She sighed. “I don’t like that.”

He gripped her tighter, his arms circling her body and bringing her closer. Somehow there was still room left between them. “I don’t either. But the possibilities are endless, Felicity.”

“And the world is huge.”

“And that’s a problem why?”

She pulled loose of his embrace and sat up, her naked skin growing cold at the absence of his warmth. “How do I know we’ll actually find each other. We won’t know who we are -  _ were _ \- and we won’t know who the other was before. How can we be certain we’re soulmates if we don’t know each other in a new life and-”

“Felicity,” he interrupted and placed a hand to her cheek. She leaned in, the callouses against her face intoxicating. “We found each other in Starling. We’ll find each other anywhere.”

He was certain. She could tell he was. His eyes never unlocked from hers, the sureness of his posture and the patterns his thumb drew along her cheekbone matched that intensity, telling her everything would be fine. “How can you be so sure?” she asked, insecurities outweighing her desire to believe him.

He smiled then, pulling her down to rest as they had moments before. “Because I love you, Felicity. Nothing will ever change that. No new body, or new life, and certainly not a new soul. We’re meant to be.”

The warmth of him and the sureness in his words lulled her into comfort. A silence fell, wrapping the in relaxation that beckoned for an impending slumber. She took a deep breath, then tilted her head to see his face. Calm. Unbothered. Stoic. The handsome man she adored and would always adore, no matter who they became or what name they bore. He glanced down at her through his lashes, tired. She let her lips brush his one last time before asking, “See you on the other side?”

He grinned. “See you on the other side.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Comments feed my muse!
> 
> Epilogue is on the way! Keep an eye out for it!
> 
> Follow me -   
> Twitter: @miss_writer  
> Tumblr: @arrow-through-my-writers-block


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story, even in the months that I didn't update it! It means the world that you connected to this story so much - it was a passion project for me to put Olicity into my version of "What Dreams May Come." As usual, I definitely recommend reading that book or watching the movie. 
> 
> That being said, I feel I need to clarify some things from the last chapter that might have been confusing for you guys. This heaven, the heaven in this story that Felicity creates for Oliver, along with every other person's heaven, is not heaven as we assume to know it. This is loosely based on the novel/film "What Dreams May Come," and one of the main themes of that story is incorporating many ideas and myths about the afterlife. It is not set in stone. It is not going to be the same for everyone. For Oliver and Felicity, their lives on earth were action-packed and crazy, and while they enjoyed their time in heaven together and the quietness of it all, heaven lacked so many things... not just the search for each other. So they opted for reincarnation... 
> 
> I am not trying to push a perception or dream of heaven onto anyone, but this is the mythos I've created for this fic, taking from the inspiration I used along with my own ideas. So in your idea of heaven, it might be that no one would get bored. But here, Oliver and Felicity did, despite all of the perfection. They were there for a long time - heaven is in a time all its own. 
> 
> I hope this makes sense and I hope it helps to understand what was meant by them getting bored.

 

 

The city was chaos, all sirens and crashes and jumbles of panicked voices. It had been under threat for weeks, no one really believing the news until the enemy was at their doorstep signaling for submission before they went through with attacks. The entire city was evacuating to the Watchtower, portals opening at every police station to siphon the citizens to safety as quickly as possible. The Justice League had never opened up their earth-orbiting base to the masses like this, and everyone was excited beneath their fear.

Jonas held tightly to his mother’s hand as they moved through one of the portals. It felt weird, moving through dimensions, crushed and sliced to pieces then put back together once they reached the base, something he had never expected to feel. At eight, he hadn’t been exposed to many odd sensations, protected as he was by his single mother. But through the dimensions they went, the portal tugging at their clothes and churning his tummy into knots. He didn’t see anything. It was simply that one moment he was in the police station and the next he was in an echoing chamber.

People from all over the city congregated in the chamber, getting instructions from Justice League members. Jonas’ mother dragged him out of the portal and into the crowd, drawn to a costumed hero in blue and black as he gave an animated explanation of the Watchtower and how to navigate it. But Jonas paid Nightwing no mind. He let go of his mother’s hand and stepped away, just a few steps back, but enough for the many voices to drown out Nightwing’s.

He stared up at the ceiling in awe. It was so high… impossibly high. The highest ceiling he had ever seen in his life. There was no way to reach it without the ability to fly. He took a couple more steps back and caught sight of a line of people handing out sleeping bags near the room’s exit, faces as cheerful as they could make them.

He wandered a bit farther and gripped his toy bow and arrow tightly in his nervousness. It made him feel safe. It was the last thing his father had ever given him, and it was the only thing he would have left of him once the city was destroyed.

Before he could move toward anything interesting, he heard his mother’s frantic voice calling him over. He spun around and then he felt his feet root into place when his eyes landed on something familiar.

A girl about his age or younger with blond pigtails and tiny fingers dancing across a toy laptop. She was across the chamber from him, sitting on a step leading to another room, her little feet adorned with shoes featuring faces resembling pandas. Her glasses were sliding down her nose but she quickly pushed them back up.

As he watched her, odd memories flooded his mind. A woman’s voice telling him he was not done fighting, that she thought he was sweaty, that he was a hero.

It felt real. It felt grown-up. It felt… weird.

“Jonas!” his mother scolded as she gripped his arm and pulled him to her. “Don’t run off like that… this is no place to get lost. I may never find you.”

“Sorry, momma,” he murmured as he glanced back toward the step to find the little girl gone. And it was like a light had gone out.

 

* * *

 

They had been at Watchtower for a few days, each family being given potential homes for relocation - the Justice League could not house the population of the city forever, and they clearly were not planning to. Jonas sat with his mother in a large common room talking with someone about where they might like to relocate to.

“Someplace with mild winters,” his mother was explaining as he looked around at all the other families, looking for the girl.

He had only seen her that one time, but she had left an impression. There was something about her, something important, and it scared him. He wasn’t interested in girls - not yet. His mother always promised that he would eventually, but he hadn’t expected to see someone and feel anything so…  _ deep _ .

“What do you think, Jonas?” their counselor asked, nudging him on the arm. “Does someplace in California sound good to you?”

Jonas tried to focus, but a strange pull drew his attention to a different corner of the room, toward a pair of blond pigtails swinging with excitement. He grinned, unable to help himself. She was smiling and it was contagious.  _ Do I like girls now?  _ The idea was so foreign and icky that it was almost too crazy to believe.  _ Girls have cooties, don’t they? _

“Jonas?” his mother asked, clearly impatient.

He nodded. “That sounds fine,” he answered distantly as he slid off his seat and began walking away, toward the girl, ignoring his mother’s confused exclamations.

The little girl pretended to play hopscotch on the pristine floors; her panda adorned shoes clicked and clacked with each hop. Under her left arm was her toy laptop, held there like a book. He continued to walk closer until he stepped into her path and she halted her game. She looked up, pushed her glasses back up her nose and narrowed her eyes at him. “Excuse me, but you’re in my way,” she said, annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” Jonas answered, stepping aside just enough for her to resume her hops with a mumbled ‘thank you’ in his direction. He watched her a little more, then spoke once again. “Have we met before?”

“Nuh-uh,” she said, shaking her head during her progress, which made her pigtails bounce even more.

He reached out and touched her arm and she stopped dead in her tracks at the same moment a wave of images flashed in his mind. He stepped around and saw her face. Shocked. Confused. Dreamy. “Did you see it too?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He was about to protest - she had to have seen those same things he had - when his mother came over, face worried and a little angry. “Jonas, you know better than to wander!”

She dragged him back to their table and they finalized plans to move to some California town right by the beach, home paid for by the Justice League.

 

* * *

 

It had been years since he had set foot in the Watchtower. Jonas had forgotten how magnificent the place was - all tech and weapons and heroes. At fifteen, he had joined a program to test his abilities at crime-fighting and world-saving. He longed for meaning in the chaotic world that had only grown more crazy since his hometown had been destroyed.

He walked the halls in an attempt to memorize the layout, eyes set to his feet as they moved, steps echoing off the walls.

He didn’t see her coming - he hadn’t that first day - and his body collided with hers, triggering a cascade of flashes and memories that were not his… not really. He looked up and saw eyes hidden behind glasses and blond hair woven into two loose braids. Her mouth was parted in shock, the same shock she had shown that day he had touched her arm during her game of hopscotch. But now her lips were painted a bright fuchsia to match her top. She was clutching a tablet to her chest in awkwardness. “Oh,” she mumbled.

“It’s you,” Jonas said.

“Me?” she asked.

“Yes,  _ you _ .”

She blinked at him, feigning confusion.

“I met you years ago. You were playing hopscotch.”

She blinked one more time then grinned slightly. “Oh… you…”

“Me…”

“You’re that weird boy…”

He nodded. “I guess so.”

She tilted her head to the side and her grin widened a little. “I may have lied to you that day.”

“About?”

“I did see it too.” When he didn’t respond, she cleared her throat nervously. “The hero stuff… Like we were grown-up but it wasn’t us and I was telling you how much of a hero you were.”

He smiled at the revelation. “You really saw it too?”

She nodded, her cheeks darkening with a blush.

“I thought I was going crazy,” he admitted.

“If you’re going crazy, then so am I.”

They stood there, in the middle of that hallway, staring at one another. A lifetime of unsaid words and unknown feelings flooded the space between them, so far beyond what he could comprehend. It overwhelmed him. He felt he knew her, yet he knew nothing. He let out a breathy chuckle and stuck his hand out in offering. “I’m Jonas.”

“Megan,” she answered, then took his offered hand. The flashes of adult intensity passed between them, leaving them both breathless.

“Whoa,” they both murmured, eyes locked.

 

* * *

 

They were lying on their backs in a room overlooking the stars and earth, very few people there to disturb them, mimicking a garden or park in the late night. They had been close ever since that interaction in the hallway years before, the connection between them so much different from anything they had ever known. They could pick up on the slightest change in emotion, know when the other was hiding something, feel when something was wrong. Jonas tilted his head to look at Megan, his eyes lingering on her partially parted lips as she breathed deeply of the artificial breeze flowing through the chamber. Their hands were mere inches away, the small distance feeling like miles as his body hummed with impatience to close the gap, to connect them by fingertips and palms.

He feared the contact, feared what he might see if he were to make that move. So many confusing things. Things he now wanted. Things he needed. The desire was insistent, especially with his departure looming on the horizon of his life. He would be leaving the Watchtower very soon, leaving to new places and new opportunities. He had failed the tests and challenges designed to pick out the heroes from the mundane folk. Megan had passed them all with flying colors. He had received an internship at a private investigation company under the supervision of The Question, a quick-talking ex-journalist.

Jonas had no idea when he’d see Megan again - if he ever would. The thought caused him physical pain and made him sick to his stomach. He needed her. He needed their connection, whatever it was.

He moved his hand closer, their pinkies touching as if they were children ready to make a promise. She responded by sliding her hand beneath his, letting his warmth envelop her. He smiled at her and she returned it.

“Come with me,” he begged, squeezing her hand softly, longingly, persistently.

Her eyes grew sad behind her glasses and she frowned. “I can’t,” she said, voice low and pained.

“Why not?”

Her hand grew lax against his. “I have plans. I have a mission. Mr. Diggle has a place for me on a team. He says I remind him of someone he knew long ago.”

Jonas turned his gaze to the stars beyond the heavily fortified glass, each on constant… steady. He wished he could be that unwavering for Megan, to be supportive and able to let her go. But his heart ached at the thought. No matter what, he had to be with her. He sighed and squeezed her hand in the hope she responded to it. Her thumb twitched slightly. He turned and looked at her.

Her blond hair was loose and spread out along the artificial grass, the ends curling from the moisture of the plants scattered throughout the room. Her lips were no longer frowning, but were set in a solid line - not quite cold, but not warm. The only sign of her spark were her eyes. They reflected the constellations outside, glowing with the cosmic life.

And in that moment, he felt it. The truth beneath their connection that made simple touch a whirlwind and weighed their conversations with so much importance. A cosmic allure, beyond comprehension. Beyond anything he could imagine. A cosmic love, deep and flowing between them. It had been so since their first interaction, and it had only grown since then. He knew she felt it too, even if she pretended she didn’t. He let his eyes settle on one star amongst the multitudes, the brightest in his line of sight. He turned to find it in her eyes. It grounded him somehow, gave him the courage to make the leap.

“I’ll come with you.”

Her head snapped to the side almost instantly, as soon as the words made sense to her. Her brows furrowed and her glasses began to slide down her nose with the shift in her features. “You can’t,” she said, shocked. “What about your internship?”

“I’ll figure something out. All I know is that I need you in my life, and not at a distance. Up close. With me.”

Megan was very quiet, her eyes connected to his with an intensity he so loved. He could see her desire there, the want building within her to take what he was offering - to add him into her plans for the future. He shifted onto his side and reached over, hand grazing her cheek until he touched the frames of her glasses. He thought at first he would simply reposition them, but instead, he slid them off completely. Slowly. With purpose he wasn’t quite certain of but the action felt right.

Her breath caught at his movements and her lips parted. It didn’t take long for him to close the gap between them, letting their mouths connect - first warily, then passionately, with a need he hadn’t known would be so strong until it was being quenched. It sparked within him flashes of intimacy he had yet to know. Naked bodies and scraping teeth… ravenous tongues. It all singed within the melding of their lips until the heat became overwhelming. They broke apart, unaware that they had wrapped their arms around one another, their fingers tangling in hair and clothes. Everything was a perfect mess. Everything he knew he wanted, and everything he could sense she wanted as well.

His nose brushed hers as he closed his eyes, lips luxuriously close to hers as he whispered one question. A question he had not expected to ask, but it seemed right. A question that sent his heart racing in fear and nervousness and an odd embarrassment. “Will you marry me?”

For a while all he heard was their mingled breathing. It was soothing and nerve wracking all at once. His nose was still against hers, nuzzling for comfort he was concerned she would not allow any longer. Then he felt it… her slow nod.

He opened his eyes to find hers shining with tears that could only be described as a combination of joyousness and terror. “Yes,” she murmured, voice tremulous. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

 

* * *

 

They were wed in the Watchtower, surrounded by costumed heroes, along with friends and family. Many called them foolish… naive. Marriage and romance were distractions - weaknesses more dangerous than any others, and even more seductive.

Jonas ignored the judgment and negativity he saw from older members of the Justice League, letting his eyes find Megan as she made her way toward him, dress trailing along the same artificial grass he had proposed on months before. Her eyes were shining, a mingling of starlight and happy tears. Beneath the bouquet of metal roses, he saw the telltale trembling of her hands, signaling her fears. Their lives were uncertain - as the flashes of some past story always reminded them - and despite the happiness, he understand her fears… her nervousness.

_ Can a hero raise a family? _

It was a question that resounded in his mind with each step Megan took. It was a question they had pondered for weeks before setting the date. It was a question that had brought a sad smile to Mr. Diggle’s face when they had brought it to him, seeking advice.

“That’s the big question for you?” Mr. Diggle had asked in response. “You’re worried more about the personas you take on at night, in the field, rather than the ones you take on at home?”

Jonas had shrugged.

“Man, I knew a guy that once struggled with this. It  _ crippled  _ him. Even when he was happy, it weighed him down, hindered his enjoyment of life.” Mr. Diggle had looked away, distant and solemn, remembering. “What he didn’t understand was that his role as a husband and, if it had worked out, his role as a father, meant more in the nurturing of a family. His costume was just a job. His life at home was who he truly was. Not the other way around.”

Even with the words of wisdom, Jonas knew Megan still worried. It made her progress to him slow and heavy, not light with excitement. As she locked her eyes with his, he winked, bringing on a smile that brightened his heart. He would be her light in the struggle.

The ceremony went by at a snail's’ pace, dragging and lulling. He squeezed her hands every few seconds, hoping reassurance seeped out. Once it came time to exchange vows, he took a deep breath and squeezed one last time.

“I promise to remind you of who you really are,  _ outside _ of this hero’s life. I promise to massage your shoulders after a difficult mission - not your feet though, for those I’ll buy you a foot bath. I promise to cook amazing meals for you… once I learn how to cook. I promise to be a hero of a husband, and will settle for nothing less. ‘Cause you’re worth it. You’re the only one. There’s no choice to make… there never was. And I promise to live each day as if it's the only one we have.”

For the rest of his life, he would never forget the way the tears fell from her eyes as she laughed and beamed at his vows.

 

* * *

 

Jonas hated seeing her in pain.

It rarely happened, even with her dangerous nightly activities. But the horrific pain she experienced while in labor caused him the most ridiculous level of guilt.

It was their first child. A girl. The whole surprise of the pregnancy had turned their world upside down and had caused Megan to reevaluate her role as a hero and member of the Justice League lower ranks. She could not fight crime with the child growing within her. She could barely muster up the energy to do her yoga routines to relieve her ever present stress. But he was there for her, soothing and attentive.

But actual pain and labor put him at a total loss. The strength she exerted as she squeezed his hand with each contraction scared him. She was so small, how could that much force come from such small hands? Her groans and screams echoed off the hospital room walls until they finally quieted - after many hours - to welcome the adorable cry of their baby girl.

He came around and nuzzled his face against her damp forehead, kissing the skin. Then he whispered, “You did good, babe.”

She nodded wearily as their child was placed in her arms, wriggling and bleary eyed. She huffed out a little laugh as she took the newborn’s hand into her own with so much tenderness that the force displayed before seemed even more impossible. “No,” she murmured. “ _ We  _ did good.”

 

* * *

 

Many years later, they were tucked into their bed, bodies frail and hearts slowing almost as one. Their hands were locked between them, fingers laced together, his thumb rubbing circles into her skin. The family was in the other room talking quietly, as if Jonas and Megan were unaware they were at death’s door.

He turned his head and glanced at his wife. She was watching him, a tiny smile poised at the corner of her mouth, turning it up just a tad. He returned the smile with a squeeze of his hand. Her skin was growing cold… or was it his skin? He couldn’t be certain.

“So…”

He raised a brow. “So what?”

A twinkle came to her tired eyes and she tried to shift closer to him. He reached over and, with all of his remaining strength, pulled her into his arms until her head rested in the withered pocket of his shoulder. She sighed. “See you on the other side?”

He closed his eyes, letting their life together replay on the backs of his lids, interspersed with flashes of the previous life that had started it all. He hadn’t told her of his dreams. The ones that told him exactly who he had been before being Jonas.

He had been Oliver  _ Jonas _ Queen… the Green Arrow. He had been through hell and back. All of the horrors anyone could imagine, and then some. But the best part of that life - those dreams - was the woman who had remained by his side through all of it. Felicity  _ Megan  _ Smoak.

They were destined. Always and forever, they would be each other’s light. There would never be a choice to make, and he was glad of that. Life wasn’t all that bad when a soulmate was always there to hold a hand and offer a kiss.

He kissed the top of her head and then settled into the pillow. “See you on the other side, my girl. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think about this finale? Don't forget to leave comments!
> 
> \- For anyone concerned about the fic ending with original characters and not Olicity, I'll give you a little hint about what happened when they met on the other side. 
> 
> They returned to their original incarnation - Oliver and Felicity - but they had the knowledge of those second lives and their lives there... they were able to experience the combination of crime-fighting and family life that they had desperately longed for in their first lives, and it solved a lot of their issues in the afterlife. They were able to grow their afterlife as well, including Digg, Lyla and so many other team members as they each passed on. They also added their children and grandchildren and many generations after... They achieved everything they could have ever wanted, and then some. ;) Oliver and Felicity (or Jonas and Megan) are happy in heaven... they are content.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Let me know in the comments! And don't forget to leave kudos!
> 
> Follow me places:  
> tumblr: arrow-through-my-writers-block.tumblr.com  
> twitter: @miss_writer


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